






MEMORIES' OF 
ROSE EYTNGE 





Glass^EMMll 



Book^ H ■ A 5 
Copyright N? 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr. 



THE MEMORIES 



OF 



ROSE EYTINGE 




ROSE EYTINGE 



The MEMORIES of 
ROSE EYTINGE 

Being Recollections & Ob- 
servations of Men, Women, 
and Events, during half a century 




NEW YORK • FREDERICK A. 
STOKES COMPANY • PUBLISHERS 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 22 1905 

s Copyright Entry . 
CLASS <X XXc. No 

/ 36 n & 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1905 
By ROSE EYTINGE 



All rights reserved 






Published in November, 1905 



Prbsswork by 
The University Press, Cambridge, U. S. A. 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER I 

PAGE 

The Stage and Its Influences— My First Engagement 
—The Installment System — A Sabbatarian 
Boarding-House — "Bread Eaten in Secret" — 
My First "Heavy" Part, and My First Train.. 3 

CHAPTER II 

The Green Street Theatre, Albany — The Dignity of 
Leading Woman — Dressmaking — An Acrid but 
Kindly Landlady ._ JL . . 12 

CHAPTER III 

Old-Time Stars — Julia Dean — Charlotte Crampton — 

Ada Clare — Bohemia 17 

CHAPTER IV 

Abraham Lincoln — The Prince of Wales — Fernando 
Wood — Thurlow Weed — Hugh Hastings — Daniel 
S. Dickinson and Mrs. Dickinson 23 

CHAPTER V 

Edwin Booth — The Crime of John Wilkes Booth and 

the Disposition of His Remains 28 

v 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER VI 



PAGE 



Glimpses of Royalty — The Prince of Wales — Chinese 
Diplomats — The Boston Theatre — Old-Time 
Theatrical Salaries 36 

CHAPTER VII 

My First " Row " with a Manager — E. L. Davenport 
and J. W. Wallack — A Realistic Desdemona 41 

CHAPTER VIII 

Mrs. Davenport — Edward House — Poetry at Short 
Notice — "Enoch Arden" — "The Man in the 
Iron Mask" 49 

CHAPTER IX 

Fanny Davenport — The Old House in Bulfinch Place, 

Boston — An Assemblage of Notables 56 

CHAPTER X 

The New England Circuit — A Put-Up Job — Misad- 
ventures in New Bedford 61 

CHAPTER XI 

Washington in War-Time — "Contrabands" Defined 
— Uncle Sam's Soldiers — Patriotic Songs — Tom 
Placide — Wallack and Davenport — Distinguished 
Guests 69 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XII 



PAGE 



Abraham Lincoln — William Henry Seward — Pla- 
cide's Humour — "Still Waters Run Deep" — 
Assassination of the President — A Night of 
Terror 76 



CHAPTER XIII 

New York — Wallack's Theatre — Nancy Sykes — Lead- 
ing Woman with Lester Wallack — Perfect The- 
atrical Management — Mary Gannon — Charles 
Dickens — Love for the Stage 85 



CHAPTER XIV 

My First Sea Voyage — Captain Judkins and the 
" Scotia " — Sea-Sickness — Goodwood Races — The 
Prince of Wales Again — In the Queen's Box 
at the Opera — Smuggling — Rochester, N. Y. — 
A Leading Woman in a Sad Predicament 94 



CHAPTER XV 

Toronto — "The Heart of Midlothian" — A Minister- 
ing Angel — Jeanie Deans — A Converted Presby- 
terian — "She Stoops to Conquer" — George Hol- 
land as Tony Lumpkin 103 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XVI 

Augustin Daly and the New York Theatre— " Under " 
the Gaslight"— Davenport in Mischief— "Caste" 
— W. J. Florence— Mrs. Gilbert — Starring— 
Newark, N. J.— Washington In 

CHAPTER XVII 

London — Paris — Longchamps and the Grand Prix — 
Napoleon III and the Empress Eugenie — Prin- 
cess Metternich — Prince Pierre Napoleon — Dr. 
Evans — Nubar Pasha — Auber and Verdi — 
Americans in Paris — Cora Pearl 121 

CHAPTER XVIII 

Royalty and Rank — Fontainebleau and "The Black 
Eagle" — Across the Alps — Italy — Alexandria — 
The American Traveller — Ramleh — Cleopatra — 
The Bawaub — A Masculine Chambermaid 1 30 

CHAPTER XIX 

Love, the Great Leveller — The Servant Problem in 
Egypt — How the Grocer Imported His Bride — 
Women in the East — The Harems — An Oriental 
Lady's Call Upon an American Woman — The 
Man in the Case — Human Nature 140 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XX 



PAGE 



American Patriotism — Woman's Status in America 
and the East Contrasted — Eunuchs — European 
Wives of Mohammedan Magnates 150 

CHAPTER XXI 

Egyptian Dancing-Girls — The Viceroy's Mother — 
Oriental Splendour — A Nobleman with an' Hallu- 
cination 156 

CHAPTER XXII 

Tragedies of the Harems — Sulyman Pasha — From a 
French Cloister to an Egyptian Prison — Cherif 
Pasha and His Unhappy Wife 163 

CHAPTER XXIII 

Verdi's "Aida" in the Cairo Opera House — A Blaze 
of Jewels — A Cosmopolitan Audience 177 

CHAPTER XXIV 

Egyptian Antiquities — A Remarkable Coincidence — 
A Greek Dog — A Present of Mutton "On the 
Hoof" — A Berber Prince — The Restoration of a 

Long-Lost Child 182 

ix 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XXV 

PAGE 

Sir Henry Bulwer — American Officers in the Khe- 
dive's Service — Stone Pasha — Colonel Thomas W. 
Rhett — General Sherman — Patriotism Mollified 
by Old Associations — A Meeting of One-Time 
Enemies 195 

CHAPTER XXVI 

The Fellaheen of Egypt — Taxation — "How the Other 
Half Lives" in the East — A Bedouin Family at 
Ramleh — An Arab Mother-in-Law — Marriage a la 
Mode 206 

CHAPTER XXVII 

Back to the Stage — Shook & Palmer and the Union 
Square Theatre, New York — Charles Thorne — 
Dion Boucicault — "Led Astray" — "Blow for 
Blow" — Marie Wilkins 214 

CHAPTER XXVIII 

"The Two Orphans" — "The Lady of Lyons" — 
George Rignold — "Rose Michel" — Steele Mack- 
aye — John Parselle and Charles Thorne — Tom 
Taylor 230 

CHAPTER XXIX 

Starring — Buying Experience — The West — Ben De 
Bar — "Bob" Miles — Mrs. John Drew — The Lith- 
ograph Question — A Sandwich Man 241 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XXX 



PAGE 



The California Theatre, San Francisco — John Mc- 
Cullough — Julia — Lady Macbeth — Camille — 
Mary Anderson — " East Lynne" 249 

CHAPTER XXXI 

Virginia City — An Audience of Miners — A Midnight 
Ride with a Guard of Honour — Down in a Silver 
Mine 255 

CHAPTER XXXII 

Reno — A Western Hotel — The Reno Theatre — Puri- 
fication 263 

CHAPTER XXXIII 

Seeking Rest and Finding None — "Why Don't You 
go into Some Decent Business?" — New-Mown 
Hay — The Properties of the Reno Theatre 270 

CHAPTER XXXIV 

Salt Lake City — The Guest of Brigham Young — 
The King of Utah — Polygamy 276 

CHAPTER XXXV 

Playing a Boy's Part for the Only Time — Cleopatra — 

Henry Bergh's Eulogy 281 

xi 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XXXVI 

PAGE 

London and Its Notables — Tom Taylor — The Olym- 
pic Theatre — Beerbohm Tree — The Effect of 
Too Realistic Acting — A Noble Lord's Criticism 
— "Annie Thomas" 288 

CHAPTER XXXVII 

Wilkie Collins — Charles Reade — The Influence of 
Charles Dickens — Nancy Sykes Converts a Bap- 
tist 296 

CHAPTER XXXVIII 

Edmund Yates — Robert Buchanan — Mrs. W. E. 
Gladstone — Professor Blackie — Palgrave Simp- 
son 301 

CHAPTER XXXIX 

Changes in the Profession — Lucille Western — Louis 
Aldrich — James A. Heme — Adah Isaacs Menken.. 307 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

ROSE EYTINGE Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

EDWIN BOOTH 28 

EDGAR L. DAVENPORT 44 

E A. SOTHERN 60 

LESTER WALLACK 86 

AUGUSTIN DALY 112 

DION BOUCICAULT 2l8 

ROSE EYTINGE ........... 250 



THE MEMORIES 



OF 



ROSE EYTINGE 



THE MEMORIES OF 

ROSE EYTINGE 



CHAPTER I 

THE STAGE AND ITS INFLUENCES — MY FIRST ENGAGE- 
MENT — THE INSTALLMENT SYSTEM — A SABBATARIAN 
BOARDING-HOUSE — "BREAD EATEN IN SECRET" — 
MY FIRST "HEAVY" PART, AND MY FIRST TRAIN 

I wonder why it is that stage-folk, both men 
and women, always think it a fine thing to decry 
stage-life to the young man or woman who 
thinks of entering that life. They must know 
that their attempt at depreciation is not just; 
that the life which they decry is a good one. 
The stage brings pleasure and brightness to 
many whose lives would be without any in- 
fluences more elevating than workaday inter- 
ests. It brings quick returns in recognition of 
talent, and, in a thousand ways makes apparent 
its superiority as a vocation. And for kindli- 



ROSE EYTINGE 

ness, good-fellowship, a willing heart, and a 
ready hand to help each other, where will 
these virtues be found developed as they are 
among the players ? 

When I was a slip of a girl I went upon 
the stage. 

At that time (a happy time!) there was in 
New York — and, I believe, in the whole United 
States — but one dramatic agent. This was 
Charles Parsloe (father of the late Charles Pars- 
loe, better known as The Heathen Chinee), 
who had an office in Chambers Street. To 
him I went and asked for an engagement. 
Evidently I impressed him favourably, for with- 
out any difficulty and with very little delay he 
found me a chance to go to Syracuse, N. Y., 
there to join a dramatic stock company under 
the management of Mr. Geary Hough. 

On my arrival the question of wardrobe 
promptly presented itself, and at first it seemed 
a very serious and troublesome problem; but 
Mr. Hough speedily found a solution of the diffi- 
culty. He was a widower of recent date, and 
his late wife had been his leading woman. As 



THE INSTALLMENT SYSTEM 

he still had her stage wardrobe intact, and as 
tailor-made gowns and wrinkleless robes were 
not then the vogue, I had very little difficulty 
in adapting this wardrobe to my needs. Ac- 
cordingly I bought the garments and paid for 
them "on the installment plan," Mr. Hough 
deducting from my salary a small weekly sum. 
I have often wondered since if Mr. Hough and 
I were the pioneers of the installment system. 
If so, may we be forgiven! 

In this, my first engagement, I was drawing 
a salary of seven dollars a week, and it might be 
considered that my life was one of hardship and 
privation. Not at all. Money was worth much 
more then than it is now, and on this apparently 
small salary I could live in modest comfort. I 
lived in a boarding-house, in which also dwelt 
Mr. and Mrs. Frank Humphreys, the leading 
man and leading woman of the company, to- 
gether with several others of its members. I had 
a pleasant, comfortable little room, with board, 
fire, and light, for which I paid three dollars 
a week, and, while I do not pretend to say that 
abundance in any form was within my means, 



ROSE EYTINGE 

I suffered no privations. The table was fur- 
nished with the ordinary boarding-house fare, 
and naturally was neither so abundant nor so 
luxurious as to make any of us fear gout. 

Our only really hard experience was on Sun- 
day. The landlady was a strict Sabbatarian 
and would have no food cooked on that day, 
and so, from Saturday night until Monday 
morning, we, her helpless prisoners, virtuously 
and virtually starved until, in a blessed hour, 
I discovered that food galore was stored in the 
cellar. I at once laid my discovery before Mr. 
Humphreys, and hope dawned upon us. 

The first Sunday after our discovery, Mr. 
Humphreys, armed with a villainous-looking 
scimitar (one with which I have no doubt, many 
a stage murder had been committed), and I, 
armed with a lighted candle (a juvenile Lady 
Macbeth), stole at midnight in the stealthy 
silence of stockinged feet, down to the cellar. 
There, surrounded by the bodies of our des- 
tined victims, which were suspended against 
the walls upon huge hooks, by apples which 
blushed a rosy red for our shame, by potatoes 
with their eyes fixed upon us, and by butter 

6 



BREAD EATEN IN SECRET 

which was trying to smooth away our iniqui- 
ties, we committed our burglary. 

From a side of beef Mr. Humphreys cut a 
nice, tender steak (not at all the sort we usually 
got) and from the loins of an innocent sheep 
some sweet, succulent chops, while I secured 
the "trimmings," — bread and butter, condi- 
ments, fruit; in fact any "unconsidered trifle" 
I could lay hands upon. 

Then, in fear and trembling, we crept up- 
stairs, laden with our "loot," to find Mrs. 
Humphreys paralysed with fear and filled with 
reproaches and reprimands, — but also with a 
nice, clear fire. 

The reader may picture our delight, when, 
after carefully securing the door, and taking 
every precaution against surprise, we broiled 
our booty upon a gridiron improvised from 
two crossed swords. 

Let me say here that I never suffered any of 
those perils and temptations which, we are told, 
beset the paths of girls who adopt the stage 
as their profession. At this time I was little 
more than a child, but the company of which 



ROSE EYTINGE 

I found myself a member was made up of 
good, kind, decent folk. Every man Jack and 
woman Jill of it was good and kind, though 
they did not fail to " pitch into" me when I 
deserved such treatment, which doubtless was 
pretty often. Yet never, either during work- 
ing hours in the theatre, or in hours of rest and 
relaxation at home, did I hear an unseemly 
word or witness an unseemly act. 

When I first joined the company an accident 
fixed my position in it most agreeably. The 
leading man wanted to play "The Old Guard," 
and I was cast for Melanie, and from this cir- 
cumstance my " hall-mark" of leading juvenile 
woman was established. 

With especial affection I remember Mrs. 
Frank Humphreys, the leading woman of our 
company. After her husband's death she mar- 
ried William Jamieson, a son of William Jam- 
ieson of "Consuelo" fame. 

I played my first " heavy" part in this com- 
pany. A lurid drama called "The Wandering 



BORROWED PLUMES 

Boys" was put up. Susan Denim was the 
star; some actors whom I cannot remember 
played the boys; and I was cast for the blood- 
thirsty Baroness who persecuted them. It must 
be remembered that this Baroness was sup- 
posed to be a person whose age might run 
from fifty years up (and I was scarcely fifteen) 
and that the part imperatively demanded a 
black-velvet train. 

It is needless to say I did not possess any 
such splendid equipment. My limited salary did 
not permit the possibility of its purchase, and 
the wardrobe of the late Mrs. Hough did not 
contain one. What was to be done? Mrs. 
Humphreys came to my rescue. She offered 
me hers, — a new one, purchased for this en- 
gagement, the star of her stage wardrobe, the 
apple of her eye, her fetich, — and she lent it 
to me. Could friendship go further? 

The fateful night of the first performance of 
"The Wandering Boys" arrived — that is, so 
far as the public was concerned. But the real 
performance that night was making me up and 
dressing me for the part of the Baroness. This 
called for the full feminine force of the com- 



ROSE EYTINGE 

pany, and they all filed promptly into my dress- 
ing-room and the work began. 

My hair was parted in a straight line over my 
nose, plastered down over my ears, and spat- 
tered down my cheeks, and then my face was 
" lined. " Looking back upon my face as it 
was then, I have no doubt that those same, 
carefully drawn and shaded lines, instead of 
producing the desired effect of giving me an 
appearance of age, only served to accentuate 
its youthfulness. 

The ceremony of making-up being concluded, 
my corps of attendants proceeded to put me 
into the black- velvet train; but as fast as they 
put me into it I slipped out of it, — there was 
so much of the train, and so little of me! In 
memory I can still see those dear, kindly folk, 
as they stood around me; the various expres- 
sions of hopelessness with which I was re- 
garded in the matter of the waist, — such a 
waste of waist and such a dearth of Baroness. 
But, pinned in here and taken in there, and, 
as a last resort, draped in black lace to cover 
discrepancies, I was finally hustled on the stage. 

Up to this moment I had been an interested 



MY FIRST TRAIN 

spectator rather than an active participant in 
the robing act, and was secretly feeling the 
keenest delight at having attained the dignity 
of this, my first train. But when I found myself 
standing on the stage, and saw behind me that 
long, black, trailing something that moved 
whenever I moved, that insisted upon following 
me, that would be dragged after me wherever 
I went, I conceived a sort of horror of it. It 
seemed to my overwrought mind that it was 
some sort of a hideous dragon, and that I was 
its victim, condemned to drag it after me for 
the rest of my life. I dissolved in fears and 
tears, tears which of course must have removed 
from my face all those carefully traced lines 
which were to have given it weight and age. 

Oh! what a performance I must have given of 
that blood-thirsty Baroness! 



CHAPTER II 

THE GREEN STREET THEATRE, ALBANY — THE DIGNITY OF 
LEADING WOMAN — DRESSMAKING — AN ACRID BUT 
KINDLY LANDLADY 

The second engagement in my career as an 
actress (which I also obtained through the good 
offices of Mr. Parsloe) was. at the Green Street 
Theatre, Albany, and by this time my status 
in the company was assured. I was now the 
" leading woman," or perhaps I ought rather 
to say that I played the leading business. Crude 
no doubt, a good deal of my work was, for I 
was not a woman at all, but just a saucy girl. 
Everybody in and about the theatre conspired 
to spoil me, and vied with each other in being 
kind to me and helping me. 

My opening part was that of Virginia, in sup- 
port of J. A. Neafie's Virginius. I knew noth- 
ing about Virginius, and still less about Vir- 
ginia, and the more I learned about her the 
more frightened I became. Besides, I had no 

12 



DRESSMAKING 

costumes for the part. All my surplus capital 
was invested in unbleached muslin — that val- 
uable fabric, cheese-cloth, was not then in- 
vented — and I sat up all night for a couple of 
nights engaged in the manufacture of Miss 
Virginia's costumes. When the day of the last 
rehearsal and the performance arrived, what 
with loss of sleep, fatigue, and nervousness, I 
was in rather a pitiful plight. I could not 
even pull myself together and read Virginia's 
lines, much less speak them. Management, 
star and company were all in a panic. I after- 
ward learned that a member of the company 
was safe in a dressing-room at night, up in the 
lines, and ready to go on and finish the per- 
formance when I should, as seemed inevitable, 
fail. 

But I did not fail, and the lady did not go 
on. 

I boarded with a little old lady who made up 
in temper what she lacked in proportions. She 
certainly could not have weighed more than 
eighty pounds, but it was enough! And she, 
too, was good to me. To be sure, it was in 

*3 



ROSE EYTINGE 

rather a severe and disapproving way, espe- 
cially at first, but she thawed in time. 

She never would have taken me in at all if I 
had not gone to her highly recommended, for 
she, like most good folk who know nothing 
about them, disapproved of actresses, and when 
she first saw me she snipped acrimoniously, 
and said: " Humph! you ought to be at home 
and going to school." And when I replied, 
with more tact than truth, that I hoped to be 
at home with her, and added that I also hoped 
to make the theatre my school, she did not 
seem to be greatly impressed; but she said, 
grudgingly, that I might come, and she would try 
me. And she did, often and severely! 

She gave me a little garret room, which con- 
tained, among other comforts, a tiny wood 
stove, and for this and my board I paid her 
$3.50 a week, this being about the ordinary 
price for board at that time. 

At first she was very severe with me. If I did 
not get down for breakfast by eight o'clock I 
got it cold, or not at all. When I reached home 
at night the house was dark, save for the dim 
light from a tiny lamp of japanned tin — I can 

14 



AN ACRID LANDLADY 

see it now — which contained about a gill of 
oil. My instructions were to bolt the front 
door, and, with the aid of this lamp, light my- 
self up to my room. If I lingered in my prep- 
arations for bed my light went out. 

But I soon changed that. I provided myself 
with sperm candles, and, after carefully lock- 
ing the door, I produced them from their hiding- 
place and lighted up. If my old chatelaine had 
ever discovered this, my tenure would have 
been brief, for she would have expected to be 
burned in her bed. 

Many a night did I light my fire and candles, 
draw my little table up beside my bed, and 
ensconce myself therein and study, — and I was 
never burned. 

Slowly my tiny tyrant softened toward me. 
Once, when I had a severe cold, she sent my 
breakfast up to me. I could not have been 
more astonished if it had rained larks! Grad- 
ually this delightful innovation became a habit. 
Then there began to appear a tiny tray con- 
taining a little luncheon, flanking the little 
japanned tin lamp. 

Gradually I found myself admitted to the 
15 



ROSE EYTINGE 

kitchen on baking-days, and when Christmas 
goodies were in course of preparation I was 
permitted to help prepare the fruit and beat 
the eggs. 

Then there came a tremendous proposal. I 
was to give up acting and come and live with 
my old friend — indeed she had proved her- 
self a true friend — and be her foster-daughter 
and help her conduct the boarding-house, 
and when she died it, and all else she was pos- 
sessed of, should be mine. When I declined 
this offer she did not resent my decision, but to 
the last was my dear, kind, if somewhat sharp 
and acrid friend. 



16 



CHAPTER III 

OLD-TIME STARS — JULIA DEAN — CHARLOTTE CRAMPTON 
— ADA CLARE — BOHEMIA 

Very hard I had to work to support the stars 
that came in a steady procession to the Green 
Street Theatre. Among them I remember 
Julia Dean, surely one of "the sweetest women 
e'er drew breath." It seemed to be a sort of 
benediction when she leaned over and fixed 
her soft, gentle eyes upon one. 

Greater than all the rest was Mrs. Shaw. She 
was very beautiful, with a grand, stately sort 
of beauty, and a voice like the rich tones of an 
organ. Never shall I forget her, as she stood 
like an empress, her exquisitely moulded arm 
extended, and exclaimed: "On your lives, I 
charge ye, bring Huon back to me!" 

Then there were old Peter Richings, pompous 
and puffy, and his "daughter Caroline, " self- 
contained and supercilious, but a sweet, highly- 
cultivated woman, and, notwithstanding the 

17 



ROSE EYTINGE 

arduous nature of her profession, a most ac- 
complished needlewoman. 

Among others were William Goodall,who shone 
upon the dramatic firmament like a meteor, 
and died all too young ; Edward Eddy, so many 
years "the darling of the gods"; J. J. Proctor; 
Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Connor; Maggie Mit- 
chell, and many others whose names I cannot 
now recall. 

I kept up with this procession of stars, sup- 
porting them; and the study and preparation 
of my costumes, all of which I made myself, 
made the work very hard ; but I was very happy 
in it, and everybody praised me, and surely the 
strongest incentive to work is praise. 

Of course I had my troubles. I remember one 
— a fright anent Charlotte Crampton, a great 
actress, and a brilliant, great-hearted woman, 
but very excitable and apt to be carried to ex- 
tremes in her acting by giving too full scope 
to her emotions. In her repertory there was 
a melodrama in which she played a wronged 
and neglected wife, and I the siren who was the 
occasion of her grief. The third act closed 
with my death at her hands in a very realistic 

18 



CHARLOTTE CRAMPTON 

fashion. I, in white, was awaiting her hus- 
band. Enter to me Charlotte, in black, and in 
a rage. A stormy scene followed, which cul- 
minated in her producing a carving-knife and 
cutting my throat, the blood spurting over my 
white gown, and she standing over me in tri- 
umph. When, at rehearsal, Miss Crampton 
demanded a real carving-knife, there was a very 
vigorous demur on the part of the stage-man- 
ager, but the star insisted. I was not afraid. 
But when at night Charlotte entered, her eyes 
afire, and her frame trembling with emotion, I 
confess to some tremors, and when, after being 
flung to the floor, I saw this woman with blaz- 
ing eyes, standing over me brandishing that 
dreadful knife, I uttered a shriek and knew 
no more. 

I also met Ada Clare. How beautiful she was ! 
When she came I knew nothing of the circum- 
stances, but I afterward learned that it was the 
result of a proposition from her to join the com- 
pany on trial. She selected for her appearance 
a farce,— " The Pet of the Petticoats," I think, 
— she playing Virginie. I believe she made this 
selection because it was a French dialect part. 

19 



ROSE EYTINGE 

She went to the theatre directly on the morning 
of her arrival in the town, but as I did not 
reach the theatre until after she had left it, I 
missed seeing her for the present. However, 
I found the company entire there, and they 
amused themselves by proceeding to "take a 
rise" out of me. They told me, among many 
other things of like sort, which I cannot now re- 
member, that I had better go at once and ob- 
tain a willow wreath to wear in place of the 
crown which I had just lost. My reign was 
over. The girl who had just arrived was a 
much prettier girl than I ; was fair, with golden 
hair; clever — far more clever than I was; and 
so amiable; not a bit saucy, — etc. 

I remember that I held my own fairly well 
during this fusillade, and though in my heart 
I felt many a qualm, I opposed a bold front to 
their attacks. I perched upon a table that hap- 
pened to have been left on the stage, and there 
I sat and swung my legs, and, with a saucy 
assumption of indifference, flung defiance at 
them. But I am afraid it was very poor coun- 
terfeiting. In my heart I was sadly frightened 
and cast down. I loved those folk, and I be- 

20 



ADA CLARE 

lieve that they loved me. I would have been 
very sorry to have found myself supplanted in 
their admiration or good will. 

At night I saw Ada Clare, who was all and 
more than they had said, and then, as through- 
out my life, I have always done, I prostrated 
myself before the altar of beauty. So far from 
feeling envious of her, I gave her my warmest 
admiration, my love and allegiance. 

Not very long after this Ada Clare and I were 
both living in New York. Ada had installed 
herself in a dainty little house on West Forty- 
second Street, and there, of a Sunday evening, 
could be found a group of men and women, all 
of whom had distinguished themselves in va- 
rious avenues, — in literature, art, music, drama, 
war, philanthropy. The women were beau- 
tiful and brilliant, the men clever and dis- 
tinguished. I cannot remember more than a 
few of these people, but of those who live in 
my memory are John Clancey, owner and editor 
of the "Leader," then a popular weekly paper; 
Stephen Fiske; William Winter and his wife, 
Lizzie Campbell, — then boy and girl, bride- 

21 



ROSE EYTINGE 

groom and bride; Peter B. Sweeney; Mary 
Freeman Goldbeck; Fanny Brown; Walt 
Whitman; Henry Clapp; William Stuart; Ed- 
ward H. House; and many others. 

This was Bohemia, and our fairy-like, beautiful 
young hostess was its queen. A veritable queen 
she was, receiving from her subjects their love 
and loyalty, which she won by her quiet sincer- 
ity and unpretentious, unconscious dignity, and 
drawing from each member of her court, by 
her gracious presence, all that was best in them 
of brilliancy, kindliness, courtesy, and wit. 



22 



CHAPTER IV 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN — THE PRINCE OF WALES — FERNANDO 
WOOD — THURLOW WEED — HUGH HASTINGS — DANIEL 
S. DICKINSON AND MRS. DICKINSON 

It was in Albany that I was a witness to, and a 
participant in, two occasions, both memorable, 
and one of them marking an epoch in this 
country's history. This latter was the passage 
of Abraham Lincoln through the old Dutch 
city, as he journeyed from his Western home 
to Washington, there to be installed as an im- 
mortal President of these United States. 

We all know how Abraham Lincoln looked. 
His face is enshrined in our memories, as his 
virtues are in our hearts; but certainly my first 
sight of that extraordinary man was a startling 
experience. He sat in an open carriage; and 
as, from time to time, he rose to bow to the solid- 
ly massed people who made the air resonant 
with their welcoming cheers, the impression 
that he gave was that his length was endless. 

23 



ROSE EYTINGE 

And his hands! Was there ever, before or 
since, such a pair of hands? There did not 
appear to be any wrist in the scheme of his 
anatomy: his great gnarled hand seemed to run 
straight up to reach his long, gaunt arm. 

His face! It was rugged and rough; but from 
his dark, deep-set eyes there shone, and about 
the lines of his mouth there played, such a 
tender kindliness, such a soft influence, that 
one was led to forget his personal peculiarities 
and to feel that to find shelter beneath that 
benignant gaze would be to find safety. 

The other memorable day in Albany was that 
on which the Prince of Wales visited that city. 

Of course we are all good republicans, but 
there is no denying that Americans "dearly love 
a lord," — and the mere sight of a prince! 
Well, — that quiet, staid, Dutchly, phlegmatic 
little town went fairly wild at the sight of the 
slender, fair-haired boy. The neighbouring 
towns for miles around had, apparently, poured 
their entire populations into the streets, which 
were black with people. The air was rent with 
5houts; the wildest enthusiasm prevailed. 

24 



TWO HISTORICAL FIGURES 

And the enthusiasm which was shown that 
day in Albany to the Prince of Wales was repeat- 
ed wherever he went, throughout the length and 
breadth of the land. It was a testimony of 
respect to his mother; a greeting of love and 
amity from the American republic to the mother 
country : a cry of brotherhood ; a clasp of hands 
across the sea, the destruction of revolutionary 
prejudice, and the awakening of the present 
spirit of alliance. 

As I write, the figures of several people whom 
I met in Albany, emerge from the mists of my 
memory. Of these, two were men who, each 
in his opposite sphere, left a deep mark on the 
pages of contemporaneous history. One was a 
power in New York city politics; the other 
wielded a great influence in national as well 
as in State and city affairs, besides reaching 
across the Atlantic. 

The first of these two distinguished men was 
Fernando Wood, at that time mayor of New 
York, and to know whom was to understand 
the secret of his power. He had every quality 
and personal attribute to make him a leader 

2 5 



ROSE EYTINGE 

of men. Strikingly handsome, though at this 
time an old man, his was the straight, slender 
figure and the elastic springy walk of a boy 
of twenty ; a elear-cut face, aquiline nose, 
piercing dark eyes, with heavy well-marked 
brows, silver- white hair, and heavy white mous- 
tache. 

The other figure of this notable pair is the 
towering person of Thurlow Weed, the Warwick 
of American politics; wielding his baton of 
power from his sanctum in the office of the 
Albany " Evening Journal," of which powerful 
newspaper he was editor and proprietor. He 
also was a man of singular and Impressive ap- 
pearance. He was very tall, — so tall, indeed, 
and so slender, that in standing or walking he 
leaned forward, not actually stooping, but bend- 
ing, as we sometimes see a slender tree bending 
before a light breeze. His complexion was 
dark, and his face"was long and deeply marked, 
with deep-set, dark eyes that looked out in a 
searching way from under heavy, pent-house 
brows. His arms and hands were unusually 
long, giving him a powerful reach; indeed he 
enjoyed the reputation of having a great reach 

26 






THE DICKINSONS 

to strike an enemy, but it was also said of him 
that he had an equally long reach and a firm 
hold with which to help a friend. 

Another man who was a power in the politics 
of the State of New York, and whom I met in 
Albany, was Hugh Hastings, editor and pro- 
prietor of the Albany " Knickerbocker " ; and I 
cannot take leave of this quaint old city without 
recording my loving recollection of two dear 
friends whom I met there, whom I knew after- 
ward in their beautiful, hospitable home in 
Binghamton, and whose love and friendship I 
was privileged to enjoy until, after lives spent 
in good deeds, they each in turn lay down to 
rest in the beauty of holiness. The world is 
brightened and bettered by the presence of such 
persons as Daniel S. Dickinson and his wife. 



CHAPTER V 

EDWIN BOOTH — THE CRIME OF JOHN WILKES BOOTH AND 
THE DISPOSITION OF HIS REMAINS 

The finest monument that any man could wish 
to have erected to his memory is that which 
is felt and voiced by every one who ever met 
Edwin Booth, bearing testimony to his gentle- 
ness, his sweet temper, his unvarying, simple 
kindliness. 

When I first met Edwin Booth I was at Niblo's 
Garden, New York, playing under the man- 
agement of William Wheatley. I took the part 
of Blanche de Nevers in "The Duke's Motto," 
in which Mr. Wheatley himself played Lagar- 
dere, with his catch-phrase, "I am here," that 
obtained such a widespread popularity. 

Mr. Booth was about to produce at that thea- 
tre Tom Taylor's "A Fool's Revenge," and 
he offered me the part of Fiordilisa. I do not 
know if the piece was then printed. At all 
events I did not see a printed book, but studied 

28 




EDWIN BOOTH 



A PICTURESQUE COSTUME 

my lines from a written part; and either there 
was nothing in the lines that indicated the ob- 
scurity and poverty of Bertuccio, or I overlooked 
them. So, in dressing Fiordilisa, I let my love 
for the beautiful and the picturesque run riot. 
I designed a costume for her which was strictly 
correct in that it was mediaeval Italian. But 
it was composed of satin and rare silver em- 
broidery and diaphanous draperies. As I was 
dressed I might more readily have been taken 
for the daughter and heiress of the reigning 
duke than for the child of the court fool. 

Being dressed (and, truth to tell, feeling very 
well satisfied with my appearance), I went to 
the greenroom. Thither, shortly after, came 
Mr. Booth. When he saw me he fell back 
aghast. In great surprise I inquired the cause 
of his amazement. He told me I was far too 
richly dressed for the daughter of a man of his 
rank, and he explained to me that my dress 
should have been quiet and unobtrusive and 
of cheap material. 

I was overwhelmed with shame, — in fact was 
on the verge of tears, — when the dear, gracious 
fellow took me by both hands and turned me 

29 



ROSE EYTINGE 

round about, and, with an amused glint in his 
eye, said: "Well! By jingo, the result of our 
blunder is so fine I think we'll have to let it 
stand!" 
And it "stood" during the run of the piece. 

Some time after this engagement — I think it 
may have been a year or two after — I again 
played with Mr. Booth, this time at the Winter 
Garden, New York, and my roles embracing 
such characters as Julie de Mauprat, Maritana, 
the Princess in "Ruy Bias," and very possibly 
others. 

This engagement does not seem to be 
marked in my memory by any striking events, 
but to have covered a placid period of duty 
done and salary drawn,— a usually satisfactory 
state of things, but possessing no hooks upon 
which to hang a narrative. I may, however, 
mention one incident that occurred while we 
were rehearsing "Richelieu." Up to that time 
it had been the custom for Francois to be 
dressed as a courtier. But as Bulwer does not 
introduce in his drama that element of courtier 
and soldier that history tells us existed in the 

3° 



A CHANGED COSTUME 

Cardinal's anteroom, but represents him as be- 
ing attended by Joseph and Francois only, I al- 
ways felt that the dramatist's intention was that 
Francois should be an acolyte and dedicated 
to the priesthood, and therefore his costume 
should be in accord with that idea. 

One morning at rehearsal I mentioned this 
thought of mine to Mr. Booth. His usually 
languid manner quickened; he threw back his 
head ; looked sharply at me for a moment ; then 
went to the wing and sent the call-boy to Mrs. 
Bohanan, who had charge of the wardrobe. 
On her appearance Mr. Booth held a brief 
colloquy with her, and, when " Richelieu" was 
produced, Francois was dressed as an acolyte. 

Another tiny little incident, but one showing 
the kindliness of Booth's nature and his some- 
times quaint sense of humour, occurred during 
the last act of "Richelieu," when the Cardinal 
is to all appearance dying, and Julie, in a par- 
oxysm of grief, has flung herself upon his breast. 
Booth, patting my head with paternal tender- 
ness, whispered to me: "There's a smudge 
of black on the end of your nose: be still while 

3 1 



ROSE EYTINGE 

I take it off." And while Julie, convulsed 
with anguish, lay sobbing on the Cardinal's 
breast, he, with a corner of his Eminence's 
ermine, removed the offending smudge. 

Some years afterward, Edwin Booth again 
made overtures to me to join his forces, and his 
offer was a very liberal one. It was to support 
him in his own repertory at the evening perform- 
ances, I to have the matinees to play my own 
pieces. But at the time this offer was made, I 
was starring myself, and so declined it. As 
with many of the things which I have done 
or omitted to do, I have since regretted my 
decision. 

I have no doubt, that, if I cared to do so, 
I could string together innumerable anecdotes 
about Edwin Booth. But he was so sensitive 
and he so shrank from general public notice, 
that it seems that to discuss him or his pe- 
culiarities would be to take a liberty with his 
memory. 

It was not long after the close of that Winter 
Garden engagement, I think, that the awful 

32 



A NATIONAL HORROR 

crime of John Wilkes Booth shocked the world 
and fell upon the country like a pall. We 
all remember how Edwin Booth, shrinking 
and cowering under the weight of that great 
sin and shame, for which he was in no way 
responsible, but the consequences of which he 
suffered deeply and bitterly, withdrew himself 
from the world and avowed his determination 
never to appear in public again, and how it 
was only after a long time, and after not only 
his friends and admirers but the whole country 
clamoured for him, that he reconsidered that 
determination and consented to appear again 
upon the stage. 

There is one detail of that great horror about 
which I can speak with certainty, — the dispo- 
sition which was eventually made of the body 
of John Wilkes Booth. Some months after 
the close of the terrible tragedy, when public 
excitement was somewhat allayed and public 
feeling had become calmer, the body of John 
Wilkes Booth was secretly exhumed, con- 
veyed to Baltimore, and given to his mother, 
who — poor broken - hearted woman ! — had 
never ceased to beg for it. 

33 



ROSE EYTINGE 

This favour was granted to Mrs. Booth by the 
Government, not so much out of sympathy for 
her, but as an expression of respect for her 
son Edwin, and of the faith which the nation 
had in him. . 

It is not possible to think of Edwin Booth 
without chastened sorrow and sympathy. His 
childhood and early boyhood, spent largely in 
wandering about the country with his father, — 
a man of violent temper and bad habits, with a 
morose and gloomy disposition, and whose 
moods ran sometimes almost into madness, — 
could not have been very happy. The death 
of the girl- wife whom he adored, while he was 
yet little more than a boy, left Edwin Booth 
heart-broken. Then came crashing down upon 
his devoted head the awful crime of his brother, 
— a crime which held up to public execration all 
who were kin to the wretched, misguided man. 
The domestic clouds which shadowed Edwin 
Booth's later years, I feel that I, in common 
with the rest of the world, have no right to 
discuss. 

We who loved him can comfort ourselves only 

34 



EDWIN BOOTH 

with the thought that he had his compensation. 
Art, his mistress, always greeted him with 
smiles; the tragic muse, Melpomene, never 
turned away from him. She walked with him 
hand in hand through fields where lesser mor- 
tals could not follow, and with the wreath of 
willow that a sorrowful nation laid upon his 
grave there were also mingled the leaves of the 
laurel. 



35 



CHAPTER VI 

GLIMPSES OF ROYALTY — THE PRINCE OF WALES — CHI- 
NESE DIPLOMATS — THE BOSTON THEATRE — OLD-TIME 
THEATRICAL SALARIES 

It has been my fortune on more than one oc- 
casion to come into pretty close social relations 
with royalty and other "high and mighty- 
nesses," and I am afraid I must be sadly de- 
ficient in reverence; for, so far as I can recollect, 
I do not seem to have found myself in the least 
abashed or overcome by these experiences. 

My first sight of royalty was when royalty 
dashed into my presence. I think it was when 
I was playing at Niblo's Garden that I attended 
a ball given in honour of the Prince of Wales, 
and possibly I am the only feminine survivor 
of that function who would, without torture, 
confess that she did not dance with his Royal 
Highness. 

But I did eat sandwiches and drink wine with 
him, or, to be correct, he did so eat and drink 
with me. 

36 



GLIMPSES OF ROYALTY 

It happened this way. The friends whose guest 
I was had provided these refreshments in their 
box, and, being also friends of Colonel San- 
derson, an American who conducted his Royal 
Highness' s American tour, that gentleman 
brought the Prince to our box, more, I think, to 
get a "bite and sup" than for any other purpose. 

Introductions followed in course, and as, on the 
entrance of the royal guest, I had been hastily 
installed as hostess, we hobnobbed a bit. On 
taking his departure the Prince very gracefully 
said that if I ever visited his "town" he would 
be pleased to take advantage of the opportu- 
nity thus afforded him to return my hospitality. 
And his Royal Highness kept his word. 

When I 

But all in good time. When I arrive in Lon- 
don, which will not be for a while yet, I will 
tell the whole story. 

About this time I attended another great ball 
given by the city government to some "high 
and mighty-nesses " from China, and held, I 
think, at the Academy of Music. 

Mr. Burlingame, whom I numbered among 

37 



ROSE EYTINGE 

my friends, had been sent by the United States 
Government to China on some mission, — I 
think it was some sort of "open door" to per- 
mit "John" to come to this country whenever 
he felt so disposed. Parenthetically I might 
here remark that when one sees to what an 
extent "John" has availed himself of that 
privilege, one might be forgiven for wishing 
that Mr. Burlingame had stayed at home. 

However, our envoy met with such distin- 
guished success in the accomplishment of his 
mission, that he brought home with him, as 
proof of it, a choice selection of "Great Pan- 
jandrums, with little round buttons on top," 
to be our guests, and the ball which is now 
whirling in my memory was given in their 
honour. 

I did not dance with any of these fine speci- 
mens of porcelain, though perhaps the fact that 
I failed to enjoy the privilege was because these 
notables did not want to dance. They would 
never have dreamed of doing anything so un- 
dignified. Clad in robes of gorgeous satin, 
which were ablaze with gold and silver em- 
broideries and sparkling with gems, they sat 

38 



THEATRICAL SALARIES 

in stately magnificence on a dais at the head 
of the ballroom, and in impassive indolence 
watched us dance and enjoy ourselves. I was 
afterward told that, on being asked their opin- 
ion of this great function, they had expressed 
warm admiration for the affair, but they were 
somewhat surprised to observe that we had 
exerted ourselves to dance for their amuse- 
ment, instead of having our slaves perform that 
arduous duty. 

At the time of which I write, being a leading 
woman, I received a salary of twenty-five dollars 
a week, and a very good salary it was, with 
which I could then get more than I can now 
with five times that amount. So I was greatly 
pleased to receive from the Boston Theatre, 
which at that time was under the management 
of Orlando Tompkins (father of the present 
manager, Eugene Tompkins), "Ben" Thayer, 
and Henry C. Jarrett, an offer to play leading 
business at a salary of forty dollars a week. 

In those days every theatre had its own stock 
company, and "stars" were the exception rather 
than the rule. 

39 



ROSE EYTINGE 

The Boston Theatre offer was a very liberal 
one, only the most important and well-known 
people commanding fifty or sixty dollars a week. 
The highest salary ever received by Mrs. John 
Hoey, who for several seasons was the leading 
woman of Wallack's Theatre, New York, was 
sixty dollars a week. Madeline Henriques, 
who followed Mrs. Hoey in that position, got 
a "rise" to seventy-five dollars. I made a still 
higher jump, my salary reaching three figures, 
and I was the first leading woman in this coun- 
try, and, I think, on the English-speaking stage, 
who had ever commanded a three-figure salary. 
And we may be quite sure that the Continental 
stage never attained the Anglo-Saxon standard 
of liberality. 

I gladly accepted the Boston Theatre engage- 
ment which also marked my first " row " with my 
managers. I have had many since. 



40 



CHAPTER VII 

MY FIRST "ROW" WITH A MANAGER — E. L. DAVENPORT AND 
J. W. WALLACK — A REALISTIC DESDEMONA 

That first "row" with my manager led to very 
good fortune and I can now revert to it with 
pleasure, though at the time it gave me great 
pain. 

One clause of the offer made me by the Boston 
Theatre management was that I should not 
be called upon to support feminine stars, but 
it fell out that in the opening week of my en- 
gagement the management presented a woman 
star. She was a pretty woman and an excel- 
lent and popular actress; but she did not be- 
have well to me. She is dead, however, and I 
therefore refrain from naming her. 

She opened her engagement with Sheridan 
Knowles's play, "The Hunchback," she, of 
course, playing Julia, and the management 
asked me, as a favour, to waive the clause in 
my contract to which I have referred, and to 
play Helen, I consented. 

4 1 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Late in the day of performance the star sent 
to me, in great distress of mind, to say that the 
trunk which contained her costumes for Julia 
could not be found: could I lend her some 
gowns? I at once placed my entire wardrobe 
at her disposal. It was not a very munificent 
offer at that. Its limitations were soon reached, 
and I settled with myself that I would wear 
whatever she did not select. 

At the last moment the trunk was found, and 
I was left free to wear my own gowns, which 
were all quite new and fresh and very pretty. 
Quite early in the performance it became un- 
mistakably apparent that both my gowns and 
myself were very well liked by my audience. 
As a consequence the star conceived a violent 
dislike for me and proceeded to take prompt 
measures to make me feel it. 

"The Hunchback' ' was so well received that 
it would have run for quite a while, yet, despite 
the protests of the management and the wishes 
of the public, another play in the repertory of 
the star was put into immediate rehearsal, and 
in this play, in which, by the terms of my con- 
tract, there was no justification for demanding 

42 



TROUBLE WITH A STAR 

my appearance, I was cast for an unimportant 
part, which part I promptly refused to play. 
The lady insisted that I should play it; I was 
equally firm in refusing to do so ; and the result 
was a formal note from the management, stat- 
ing that a continued refusal to play the part 
assigned me would compel them to ask for my 
resignation. 

Perhaps it is only fair to say here, in extenua- 
tion of this action on the part of the manage- 
ment (if it be any) that afterward they individ- 
ually told me that they had been forced into the 
position they had taken against me by the fixed 
determination of the star: she having threat- 
ened to bring her engagement with them to an 
abrupt and immediate close if I were not forced 
into submission. 

Never having been addicted to submission, I 
chose resignation, the tender of which, being 
promptly offered, was as promptly accepted. 
The day of my departure arrived. I went to 
the treasurer's office to request payment of the 
salary I had earned. I was offered a portion 
of my due ; and on my protesting, the treasurer 
told me that he was only obeying instructions. 

43 



ROSE EYTINGE 

It now became necessary to look for a settle- 
ment of my claim from the management. I 
found the partners on the stage, talking to two 
men whom I did not know. As they declined 
in any way to reconsider the position they had 
taken, or to make any more equitable arrange- 
ment, I told them with more impetuosity than 
courtesy, that their action indicated that their 
pecuniary condition must indeed be desperate, 
since, in order to replenish their treasury, they 
found themselves forced to take possession of 
so small a sum as a portion of my salary. I 
therefore begged them to accept the whole 
amount, and, putting the envelope containing 
the money on the "prompt" table, I marched off, 
leaving the managers embarrassed and the visit- 
ing men astonished, and returned to my hotel. 
I had been there only a short time when I 
received two cards: "Mr. E. L. Davenport" 
and "Mr. J. W. Wallace:." On going to the 
parlour to receive these distinguished men, 
neither of whom I had ever met, I found await- 
ing me the two gentlemen whom I had aston- 
ished so short a time before on the stage of the 
Boston Theatre. 

44 




EDGAR L. DAVENPORT 



DAVENPORT AND WALLACK 

Their object in calling was to make me an offer 
to join them. They named a generous salary, 
one far in advance of that for which I had con- 
tracted at the Boston Theatre, but no details 
were discussed. 

They only said, almost in so many words: 
"We are pleased with your work as an actress; 
we feel quite sure we will like you ; we hope you 
will like us; we will do all in our power to ad- 
vance your interests as an actress, and we will re- 
spect and protect you as a woman. Come to us." 

I said, "I will." And I did. That day on 
which I joined Davenport and Wallack was 
the best day's work I ever did for myself. They 
more than redeemed all their promises. 

To say that they were good to me is to say 
too little; to try to express the friendship and 
the affection that existed between us is not possi- 
ble; and this friendship grew and strengthened 
with years until it was snapped asunder by their 
deaths. 

There is no denying that they both treated 
me like a spoiled child. They fostered my wil- 
fulness by yielding to it; they acceded to my 
wishes, often to my whims, in business and 

45 



ROSE EYTINGE 

out. If one of them attempted to call me to 
account for some neglect of duty, which I have 
no doubt richly deserved rebuke, the other was 
sure to interfere and put a stop to the well- 
deserved scolding. 

Scenes of this sort were by no means uncom- 
mon. Mr. Wallack would set out to take me 
to task for some flagrant offence. Mr. Daven- 
port would step up and say: "There, there, 
Jim, don't fret the child. I'll talk to her." Or, 
Mr. Davenport would make a like attempt when 
Mr. Wallack, after listening for a moment in pa- 
tient silence, would break out something like 
this: "Ned, can't you see that you are upset- 
ting that child's nerves and breaking her spirits ?" 

So, between them, I was thoroughly spoiled. 

The result of this treatment was that I loved 
them both dearly, and I worked hard not 
nearly so much that I might win praise from 
press and public, as to please them. 

To hear Davenport, after a scene, say, " Good 
girl!" or to have Wallack pat me tenderly on 
the shoulder and say, "She 's head and shoul- 
ders over 'em all, now!" was to my mind my 
highest reward. 

46 



MRS. WALLACK 

What a comfortable, jolly life was mine, 
with these kindly men! 

My first week, playing opposite parts to them, 
was a very hard-working one. I opened with 
them at the Boston Theatre. Mrs. Wallack 
was with the company. She did not travel 
continuously with her husband, but joined him 
only at such times as her services were required 
to play some important part. Otherwise she 
stopped at their home in Long Branch. At 
this time her presence was required for Emilia, 
as it was intended to present " Othello," a very 
fortunate circumstance for me, as it afterward 
proved. She was a great actress, had a strong, 
noble face, a fine physique, and a stately car- 
riage, and one of the loveliest voices I ever 
listened to. 

In that first week the bill was changed night- 
ly, and from night to night I studied six lead- 
ing parts, necessitating my sitting up till three 
or four o'clock every morning, with my head 
tied up in wet towels and drinking strong tea. 

Wallack and Davenport knew nothing of this 
until the week's work was over, and then — 

47 



ROSE EYTINGE 

how they did scold me! But, I argued with 
myself, I had engaged with them to play their 
leading business. I ought to have been "up" 
in all these parts, and I was afraid, if I con- 
fessed that I was not, that I might lose the en- 
gagement. So, keeping my own counsel, and 
taking nobody into my confidence, I did the 
work. As a consequence, by Saturday night 
I was thoroughly exhausted, physically and 
mentally; and but for the kindness of Mrs. 
Wallack I would have gone to pieces. 

The play was " Othello. " Mrs. Wallack said, 
early in the evening, that I was ill, and in all 
our scenes together she was most thoughtful 
and helpful. When I forgot my lines she 
prompted me, and when, as often happened, 
I was too dazed and brain-weary to "take the 
word," she covered up my shortcomings with 
her own rare work. In short, she "pulled me 
through." 

But I fell with the curtain. When that came 
down upon the last scene, Desdemona evinced 
no inclination to rise from the bed in which 
Othello had smothered her, and it began to look 
as if the Moor had really finished her. 



CHAPTER VIII 

mrs. davenport — edward house — poetry at short 
notice — "enoch arden" — "the man in the iron 
mask" 

I do not remember the order of work done by 
the Wallack and Davenport combination, of 
which I was the third member, but I do recol- 
lect that we played a number of engagements 
in Boston. Mr. Davenport's house was in Rox- 
bury, where his family, consisting of his wife 
and six daughters, lived. His sons had not 
yet appeared upon this mortal stage. Mrs. 
Davenport was a member of the stock company 
at the Boston Museum, whose performance 
was usually shorter than ours. Thus she was 
enabled to come to our theatre at the close of 
her evening's work, and would often be in time 
to witness our last act. 

Davenport and Wallack frequently alternated 
the principal roles, thus Wallack would play 
Othello and Davenport I ago, and vice versa. 
The same was the case with " Macbeth" and 

49 



ROSE EYTINGE 

other pieces. On one occasion — " Othello' ' 
being the bill, with Davenport as the Moor — 
Mrs. Davenport, when the curtain fell, rushed 
upon the stage, flung herself into her husband's 
arms, and overwhelmed him with caresses and 
praises. I, on rising from the bed on which a 
short time before I had been smothered, caught 
sight of my face in a near-by mirror. Between 
my nose and my chin I discovered that my face 
had taken on the complexion of Othello, but 
this discovery did not greatly surprise me. 
Nevertheless, as I passed the Davenport group 
I drew Mrs. Davenport's attention to the cir- 
cumstance and said: "Look what your hus- 
band did." Davenport, in no whit embar- 
rassed, replied: "Yes, I set my mark upon 
her." 

It was at the Boston Theatre that we pro- 
duced a dramatic version of " The Lady of the 
Lake." Scott's text was carefully preserved, 
the only change made being the dividing of 
the poem into acts and scenes, but at the end of 
the piece a difficulty arose. 

After the duel in which James FitzJames kills 

5° 



EDWARD H. HOUSE 

Roderick Dhu, it was felt that the curtain could 
not be brought down happily while the van- 
quished chieftain's dead body lay at our feet. 
Nor could it be removed without a motive, 
which at that point the poem did not offer. 
Just then Edward H. House (better known as 
"Ned" House) sent in his card. His presence 
offered a solution of our difficulty. He was 
admitted, and was welcomed with enthusiasm. 
Greetings over, we explained our dilemma, and 
suggested his writing a few lines in strict Scott 
metre, which should furnish a pretext for Roder- 
ick's followers to bear him off to honoured but 
unseen burial. House, taken completely by 
surprise, very naturally demurred, pleading 
utter lack of preparation, and unfavourable con- 
ditions for wooing the Muse. 

But he was reminded that he had intruded on 
a Highland stronghold where might was right. 
In short, he was besought and bullied and 
urged, and finally was hustled into a little room 
on the stage, half dressing-room, half office, 
where, after having been provided with paper 
and pencil, the door was locked upon him. 
Warning was conveyed to him through a broken 

5 1 



ROSE EYTINGE 

window that his release depended upon his pro- 
duction of the required lines. Persuasion, 
entreaty, pleading of important engagements, 
were alike in vain; and at last he complied with 
the rigorous demands of his captors. 

I forget the entire stanza, but it ended with the 
following lines, spoken by the victorious Fitz- 
James: 

"Now hard by Coilantogle Ford 
The chieftain's corse lies on the sward; 
It is not meet so great a foe 
Untended by his clan should go. 
Summon his henchmen tried and true, 
To bear away brave Roderick Dhu." 

Then the triumphant king, the vanquished 
chief, timely bard, and — I beg to add — Ellen, 
the Lady of the Lake, all adjourned to luncheon. 

It was at the Boston Theatre also that we pro- 
duced a dramatic version of Tennyson's "Enoch 
Arden." Here again the lines of the original 
poem were retained. Wallack played Enoch, 
Davenport Philip Ray, and I Annie Lee. Both 
were delightful in their respective roles. Dav- 
enport, in the soft grey tints of the miller's garb 

52 



WALLACK IN "ENOCH ARDEN" 

and the large soft grey hat, which made such 
a fine background for his handsome face and 
his kindly blue eyes, was a picture. 

It is not possible to imagine anything more 
pathetic than Wallack's picture of Enoch Arden 
upon the lonely island, or the desolate cadence 
of his voice as he said: 

"The blaze upon the waters to the east; 
The blaze upon the waters overhead; 
The blaze upon the waters to the west; 



The scarlet shafts of sunrise — but no sail." 

Another scene was inexpressibly sad, — that 
in which Enoch returns to his native village, to 
find Annie — his wife — "his wife no more," 
but married to Philip, living with his children 
and Philip's child in peace and plenty. 

The stage was divided down centre : one side 
representing Philip's home, — a cosy interior, 
ruddy with firelight and bright with happy 
faces, the daughter singing, and everything 
typical of comfort and happiness; the other 
showing the road, bleak, cold, and dark, and 
Enoch peering in at the window; then, flinging 

53 



ROSE EYTINGE 

himself upon the ground, crying to God in 
heartbroken accents for strength — 

"Not to tell her, never to let her know." 

It was here, too, that I first played Hortense 
in "The Man in the Iron Mask." Mr. Wal- 
lack, who played The Man, was most explicit 
and emphatic in his instructions as to my work 
in Hortense, particularly concerning the fourth 
act, in which I was to get my first glimpse of 
the unfortunate prisoner. He told me to make 
my entrance from left, looking off left, as if 
continuing my farewell to some unseen person, 
and carefully to avoid seeing him — The Man 
in the Iron Mask — until I reached the centre 
of the stage and actually bumped against him. 
I was then to turn, see him, throw my hands up, 
and, with a wild shriek of terror, fly from him 
down to the extreme left corner. 

At night I carefully obeyed these instructions. 
When I turned and saw before me a ghastly 
figure, clad from throat to feet in dull, rusty, 
close-fitting black; his hands, bloodless and 
fleshless, hanging supinely at his sides; his 
head, and neck and shoulders completely cov- 

54 



OBEYING INSTRUCTIONS 

ered by an iron casque, I for the first, and I 
believe the only time in my life, gave way to 
terror. 

I forgot that it was Mr. Wallack, forgot where 
I was, forgot everything. Uttering a shriek, I 
fled, I knew not where, anywhere to escape that 
dreadful Thing! I was stopped in my wild 
progress only by bringing up against the stage 
box, and then I was recalled to a realisation of 
the situation by the applause. Never, either 
before or since, have I received such recognition 
and its long continuance saved me. It gave 
me time to recover myself, to take up the scene, 
and to play it to an end. Again and again the 
curtain was taken up, that we might acknowl- 
edge the applause which was showered upon 
Mr. Wallack and myself; and after the curtain 
fell I was overwhelmed by praise from Wal- 
lack, Davenport, — everybody. 

For me, I just held my tongue. 



55 



CHAPTER IX 

FANNY DAVENPORT — THE OLD HOUSE IN BULFINCH PLACE, 
BOSTON — AN ASSEMBLAGE OF NOTABLES 

It was while I was playing in Boston with 
Wallack and Davenport that Fanny Daven- 
port made her appearance as a grown-up actress. 
We were playing at the Tremont Temple, that 
being the only place in the way of a theatre 
that we could secure at the time. 

Fanny, in common with her younger sisters, 
had often played children's parts with her 
parents, but, at the time I speak of, the nearest 
approach that she could make to the stage was 
through her mother's dressing-room at the 
Boston Museum. We were playing Dion Bou- 
cicault's comedy, "How She Loves Him." 
The actress that played Mrs. Vacil was sud- 
denly called away by illness in her family, and 
there was nobody to play the part; the local 
management objected to any change of bill, 
and we were in a quandary. 

In this dilemma Fanny saw her opportunity 
56 



THE ACTORS' MECCA 

and eagerly seized upon it. She besought her 
father to allow her to play Mrs. Vacil, and he 
promptly pooh-poohed the idea. Fanny came 
to me and entreated my influence. I said she 
should not play Mrs. Vacil, that I would play 
that part, and she should play Atlanta Cruiser. 
And she did. 

It was with Davenport and Wallack that I 
first went to stop at 2 Bulfinch Place, Boston. 
This house was the actors' Mecca. Only the 
elect were admitted there, and it would have 
been a serious mistake to have referred to it as 
a boarding-house. 

One was the "guest" of Amelia Fisher, the 
quaint little hostess, but at the end of each 
week a mysterious little memorandum found 
its way into one's morning paper, showing in- 
debtedness to Amelia about equal to the charges 
of a first-class hotel, 

But no amount of money would have been too 
much to pay for the privilege of meeting the 
company which from time to time came there. 

First, there was that old Boston favourite, Wil- 
liam Warren. He had lived at Bulfinch Place, 

57 



ROSE EYTINGE 

as he had acted at the Boston Museum, fifty 
years. He was the only man ever permitted 
to carry a latch-key. It was a quaint old house 
in a quaint old no-thoroughfare street, with a 
great beam padlocked across one end, by means 
of which the dwellers in the street lived secure 
from the fear of intrusion of the vulgar dray 
or the iconoclastic express wagon upon their 
exclusive cobblestones. 

It was a broad-fronted, shallow house, and, 
no doubt, when originally built, it stood in a 
pretty garden, but this had long since disap- 
peared. At the time of which I speak it was 
crowded on all sides by more modern and more 
pretentious houses, while the garden had shrunk 
to a damp, narrow, flagged space in which were 
a few dejected, postponed-dying, lingering, 
hopeless prisoners in a melancholy wire stand. 

The house seemed to have taken warning 
from Lot's wife, and refrained from looking back. 
Every "window in the rear had been blinded by 
various ingenious contrivances. I remember 
one room in particular. It contained two win- 
dows, each of about thirty small panes of glass. 
The original panes had been removed, looking- 

58 



BULFINCH PLACE 

glass being substituted, and when the occupant 
moved about this room in a dim light — the 
light was always dim in Bulfmch Place — it 
produced a curious effect. It was as though 
one were trying to escape from a company of 
one's own ghosts. The house was old-fash- 
ioned, and in many details lacked the appli- 
ances for warmth and comfort to be found in 
modern houses, but the cleanliness, cosiness, 
good cheer, and, above all, the people to be 
met, and the talk to be heard in two rooms in 
that house, made it a most desirable place. 

One of these rooms was the long front room 
on the ground floor, with two windows which 
looked out on Bulfinch Place. It had a high- 
shouldered, narrow, Colonial chimney-piece at 
one end, and a "kit-kat" portrait of William 
Warren in a sky-blue cravat at the other. The 
intervening spaces on the walls at either side 
were filled with representations and autographed 
pictures of actors and actresses of the past and 
the (then) present. This room served the 
double purpose of sitting-room and dining-room. 
But the real point of delight, of rest, of cheer 
and mirth, was the kitchen. This was directly 

59 



ROSE EYTINGE 

in the rear of the sitting-room, and in the day- 
time, with its one window looking out on the 
melancholy little paved courtyard, was not a 
cheerful room. But at night, with the curtain 
drawn close over the lower sash, the high, old 
chimney-piece set out with old Delft mugs and 
jugs, a clear fire in the brightly polished stove, 
the flour-barrel very much in evidence, dressed 
in a gaily flowered chintz gown, and with its 
cleanly swept hearth, it was an ideal room. 

How well I remember how the bright dish- 
covers, hanging from the wall, reflected our 
faces upside down. And here, when, of a 
night, we wayfarers came in from our sev- 
eral "shops,'' and met there for supper, there 
was talk, — that sort of talk where every one 
who talked had something to say, a condition 
to which there are unfortunately many excep- 
tions. There could be met Edwin Booth, 
Charles Fechter, Tom Placide, Barney Williams, 
William J. Florence, John McCullough, Annie 
Pixley, Carlotta Leclercq, James W. Wallack, 
E. L. Davenport, Kate Bateman, Matilda 
Heron, Jean Davenport, E. A. Sothern, William 
Stuart, William Winter, and many more. 

60 




E. A. SOTHERN 



CHAPTER X 

THE NEW ENGLAND CIRCUIT — A PUT-UP JOB — MISAD- 
VENTURES IN NEW BEDFORD 

It was the custom of the Davenport- Wallack 
combination, at the close of a Boston engage- 
ment, to follow with a season through New 
England, and sometimes very droll things hap- 
pened to one or other, or all of us, in our one- 
night stands. 

I remember one occasion, when Mr. Wallack 
ought to have been supposed to be taking an 
after-dinner siesta in his luxurious drawing- 
room, the curtain went up discovering him 
lying doubled up on three wooden chairs, which 
he much more than filled, both in length and 
breadth, and looking very much as if he were 
laid out for torture. 

My great sin in those days — and, I must 
confess, also in later days — was laughter, and 

61 



ROSE EYTINGE 

this reprehensible tendency sometimes led me 
into very awkward predicaments. 

We were playing in New Bedford — our first 
engagement in that town. During a scene be- 
tween Mr. Wallack and myself something set 
me off laughing. Mr. Wallack caught the in- 
fection, and there we stood, and laughed, and 
laughed. Mr. Davenport came to the wings 
and frowned upon us with great severity. His 
virtuous disapproval of our levity seemed only 
to increase it, and we laughed the more. We 
got through somehow, and when the curtain 
fell Wallack unmistakably shirked his share of 
the scoring that awaited us. He sneaked to his 
dressing-room and locked himself in until the 
storm should blow over, leaving me to "catch 
it" alone. And I did catch it! 

Among the many things which Davenport said 
was a reminder that "we had our reputation 
to make in New Bedford." I was — as I was 
too prone to be — saucy and defiant. I told 
him that before the week had ended I would 
find an opportunity to punish him for his un- 
called-for severity, and that I would also make 
reprisal upon Wallack for his cowardice in de- 

62 



A PUT-UP JOB 

serting me. And within that time fortune gave 
me an opportunity to make good my threat. 

We were playing one night in Taunton. The 
bill was "The King of the Commons." Wal- 
lack and Davenport were having a strong dra- 
matic scene together. I planted myself in the 
first entrance, and said or did some trifling 
thing which set them off laughing. This was 
the opportunity I had been waiting for. I fol- 
lowed up my advantage. I continued my ab- 
surdity, whatever it was, and induced them, 
against their efforts to control themselves, to 
laugh again. Five times they walked "up 
stage," recovered themselves, came down, took 
up the scene, and fell a-laughing again. 

At last the audience, which at first had, good- 
naturedly, laughed with them without in the 
least knowing why, lost patience and hissed 
them soundly. This instantly steadied them. 
They both recovered their wonted dignity, and 
played the rest of the scene as only they could. 
The audience, by the generous applause it be- 
stowed upon them, proved how hearty was its 
forgiveness. Afterward, at the close of the per- 
formance, they fell into my hands, and I took 

63 



ROSE EYTINGE 

my revenge. I remember that I was at great 
pains to remind Mr. Davenport that we had our 
reputation to make in Taunton. 

A curious incident occurred at the hotel in New 
Bedford where we were stopping. A nice, com- 
fortable-looking old couple appeared one day 
at dinner. Later in the afternoon I observed 
the old lady seated at a window in the parlour, 
seeming to find abundant amusement in watch- 
ing the passers-by. But, as the shadows length- 
ened and twilight set in, she fell to crying silently 
and bitterly, with great sobs, watching all the 
time from the window, eagerly scanning each 
person. Her tears were soon dried when her 
husband reappeared, distressed, anxious, and 
repentant. It seems that they had driven into 
town that morning from their farm, some 
ten miles away, and, having finished their sell- 
ing and buying, had adjourned to the hotel for 
dinner, after which the old man went off to at- 
tend to some matter of business, leaving his 
wife to amuse herself at the window. His 
business finished, he had returned to the hotel, 
and, being very absent-minded, had gone di- 

64 



AN AMUSING INCIDENT 

rectly to the stable, hitched up his team, and 
driven home. It was not until he had walked 
into his own kitchen and missed his wife from 
her accustomed place there that he remembered 
he had left her in the town. 

It was also in New Bedford that we were the 
victims of a very awkward but a very amusing 
incident. The night was pitch dark ; the moon 
had, apparently, broken an appointment with 
the town, and the lamplighter, relying upon her 
reputation for punctuality, of which she had 
at this crisis proven herself utterly unworthy, 
had retired, early. When, at the close of the 
performance, we left the theatre, stepping into 
the street was like stepping into solid ink. 
None of us knew even in what direction to turn 
to reach the hotel. We were all singularly de- 
ficient in the sense of locality, and there was 
not a creature on the street of whom we might 
inquire our way. So we plunged desperately 
into the darkness, and walked on and on, each 
of us in turn, as we grew tired, losing patience 
with the others for not knowing the way. Sud- 
denly the crimination and recrimination that 

65 



ROSE EYTINGE 

had been becoming pretty lively between Wal- 
lack and Davenport was abruptly interrupted, 
and we found ourselves quietly falling through 
space, evidently bent on visiting the other side 
of the globe. After a descent of what seemed 
several miles, but what we afterward learned 
was about six feet, we found ourselves reposing 
on a bed of soft, shifting sand. 

What had happened was this : we had passed 
a building in course of construction. Over an 
excavation under the sidewalk some planks had 
been laid. One or more of these planks be- 
came misplaced, had turned — and there we 
were. When we had somewhat recovered from 
our astonishment, had righted ourselves, and 
found ourselves unhurt, the burning question 
that presented itself was: "How are we to 
get out ?" 

My two fellow-prisoners began the task of ef- 
fecting our liberation with great vigour, making 
light of the matter, and promising that in a few 
moments we would all be once more on the 
street, making our way home. But this view 
of the situation did not continue, and it really 
began to look as if this subterranean shelter 

66 



AN ANNOYING TUMBLE 

was to be our permanent home. Both Wallack 
and Davenport waxed eloquent in suggesting 
what the other ought to do. But effort after 
effort failed. They each in turn lost patience. 
From impatience they passed to annoyance, 
from annoyance to anger, from anger to sar- 
casm, from sarcasm to contempt for the nature 
that could condescend to trivialities under such 
circumstances, — all these varying moods of 
temper following in due course each failure at 
effecting our escape. 

For me, the surprise of the tumble over, I 
settled down in the sand and took refuge in 
the perpetration of my old sin of laughter, taking 
care to keep all audible indulgence of that 
crime in the background, for there were mo- 
ments when a good, round peal of laughter 
would have been a rather dangerous experi- 
ment. At last Davenport, the lithest of the 
two, succeeded in reaching the upper world. 
He promptly pulled Wallack and myself after 
him, and every feeling was merged into thank- 
fulness. There was an interchange of congrat- 
ulations at our escape. 

Still we found ourselves "distressed and com- 
67 



ROSE EYTINGE 

passless" in the dark, silent, solitary street, as 
far from any knowledge of the hotel as ever. 
As we were stumbling aimlessly along in the 
darkness we heard the sound of a horse's feet. 
We made for that sound. We came up with 
the sound, but not with the horse. No matter, 
we were content. We were at least going some- 
where. After some little time the horse stopped. 
We soon came up with our equine guide and 
found ourselves in front of the hotel. 
I believe we went in with the milk. 



CHAPTER XI 

WASHINGTON IN WAR-TIME — "CONTRABANDS" DEFINED 
— UNCLE SAM'S SOLDIERS — PATRIOTIC SONGS — TOM 
PLACIDE — WALLACK AND DAVENPORT — DISTINGUISHED 
GUESTS 

The Davenport-Wallack combination often 
played engagements in Philadelphia and Balti- 
more, and in all the cities and towns as far 
South as Washington and as far East as Maine. 
But we never went West. The West was not 
then the near neighbour to us that it is now. 
The city which occupies a foremost place in 
my memories of that time is Washington. 

I think our first visit there was made in the 
early days of the war, and the city was in a 
constant state of ferment and excitement. Mar- 
tial music was everywhere to be heard; aides- 
de-camp and bearers of despatches were gallop- 
ing hither and thither; and "contrabands " in 
their picturesque rags were encamped in little, 
squalid, but cheerful and laughing groups wher- 
ever they could find an eligible spot, their fav- 
ourite resting-place being Pennsylvania Avenue. 

69 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Just here I am reminded of a definition which 
a dusky maiden in Washington, one "to the 
manor born," gave me of that new-born term 
"contraband." During a wordy quarrel with 
a fellow-servant I heard her call her antagonist 
"nothin' but a oP contraband any way!" I 
asked her why she did so, and what was a con- 
traband, and she replied: "Why, Lor', missie, 
don' yo' know what a contraband is? It 's 
jis' one o' dem low-down wufless Southern 
niggers dat come up to Washin'ton and set 
down on de guv'ment, and 'pend on de guv'- 
ment." 

There were soldiers everywhere, all over the 
town; Pennsylvania Avenue was alive with 
them at all hours of the day and night, and 
Pennsylvania Avenue was not then the fine, 
well paved and lighted promenade that it is 
now. Some of these soldiers made a fine show- 
ing with their blue uniforms and glittering side- 
arms and bayonets. New regiments passed 
to the front with high hearts and springing 
steps, and with bright, fresh flags flying. Others, 
again, were seen returning, their uniforms tat- 
tered and travel-stained, and their flags ragged 

7 o 



WASHINGTON IN WAR-TIME 

and faded. But all alike moved with stirring, 
martial music; if not with bands, at least with 
song. 

Perhaps one of the finest sights and sounds was 
afforded by a Western regiment, full a thousand 
strong; it had "got the route," and was on its 
way to the front. Buttoned up close in their 
light-blue overcoats, guns reversed to keep them 
dry, their slouched hats drawn well down over 
their brows, the men marched down Pennsyl- 
vania Avenue in a driving rain, every one sing- 
ing "John Brown's Body." 

It was as inspiring as the scene one evening in 
mid -Atlantic, on board a North- German Lloyd 
steamer. We had been buffeted about for ten 
days, harassed by head winds and gales, and 
were just enjoying the first hours of respite. 
Moving along at a spanking rate, before a fair 
wind, with a full moon to light us, everybody 
came crawling up on deck, breathing his or her 
thankfulness for deliverance from danger or 
death, and every heart was full of hope. A lit- 
tle group of first-cabin passengers who were sit- 
ting aft began singing; soon they dropped into 
"Die Wacht am Rhein." Voice after voice 

7 1 



ROSE EYTINGE 

took up the strain. The steerage folk, in twos 
and threes, sauntered toward the rail that di- 
vided them from their better-off fellow-passen- 
gers, and in their turn took up the song. In 
a few minutes a great chorus came from for- 
ward, the officers on deck joined in, and in a 
little while every man, woman, and child on 
board the great ship was singing the patriotic 
song. 

But in the words of our ex-Confederate broth- 
ers, "On to Washington!" 



At the time we had arranged to play in Wash- 
ington our advance agent, Mr. Pennoyer, found 
the hotels so crowded that it was impossible 
to obtain proper accommodation for us at any 
one of them. He therefore secured for us quar- 
ters in a private house on Seventh Street, and 
there we were much more comfortable than we 
should have been in any hotel. 

Among the members of our company was 
"Tom" Placide. In addition to our individual 
rooms, Wallack, Davenport, and I had in com- 
mon a large, straggling, many-sided, many- 
windowed room which we all three used as 

7 2 



TOM PLACIDE 

library, writing-room, reception, dining, break- 
fast, and supper room, and as all the windows 
looked on Pennsylvania Avenue it served also 
as an observation-room. 

Here we were always glad if Mr. Placide would 
join us, but he could seldom be persuaded to 
do so. The poor man was a great sufferer, and 
too proud and reticent to complain. Naturally 
this self-repression reacted upon himself, and 
his silent, dark moods were set down to bad 
temper. Doubtless our light-hearted moods 
and our habit of seeing the humorous side of 
life found little sympathy with him, and jarred 
upon his nerves. I think he liked me, for he 
showed his good will in many kindly ways, 
but I fear that my ever-ready laughter often 
annoyed him. He would sometimes look at 
me with a dark frown and growl out, "Ah, 
laugh away! You '11 get the laugh taken out 
of you some day." 

But that day was not then, and many a merry 
laugh and many a pleasant hour I had in that 
old room, in which it was many times my priv- 
ilege to listen to men whose names are bright 
in the pages of our nation's history. 

73 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Both Wallack and Davenport, each in his own 
way, were men of mark, and more than usually 
intelligent and interesting. Wallack was the 
quieter and more thoughtful of the two; some- 
what of a dreamer and given to sentiment and 
poetic fancies. Davenport was a totally differ- 
ent type of man; he was gay and light-hearted 
as a boy, very witty and quick at repartee, 
and he had a memory which was stocked with 
amusing anecdotes. 

To those men who were making our history at 
that time in Washington, whose lives were so 
full of the hurry, the worry, and the fury of the 
fight, the talk of these two bright men offered 
such a sense of respite and refreshment that 
often, when the performance was over, we 
were joined at supper in our many-purposed 
room by some of these more-or-less " grave and 
reverend signiors." And in the wake of these 
lawmakers and statesmen came their chron- 
iclers, among them some of the foremost news- 
paper men of that day, such as Thurlow Weed, 
Joseph Medill, " Brick" Pomeroy, Henry J. 
Raymond, Manton Marble, William Hurlburt, 
William Stuart, "Gath" Townsend, Don Piatt, 

74 



DISTINGUISHED GUESTS 

and Hugh Hastings. At these gatherings I was 
only "a looker-on in Vienna." 

The same kind fate which sent us into private 
quarters instead of to the cold conventionalities 
of hotel life guided us in our business. We 
had come to Washington expecting to play one 
week at the National Theatre; but some con- 
fusion of dates or other business complication 
upset this arrangement, and to the great chagrin 
and annoyance of both Wallack and Daven- 
port we were obliged to put up with a wretched, 
insignificant, little whitewashed house on the 
wrong side of Pennsylvania Avenue, which was 
called the Washington Theatre. But the poor 
little house proved to be a mascot for us. We 
played there, not one but many weeks, and to 
very fine business. In short, we became the 
rage. Our audiences were largely made up of 
the best people in Washington. It was no 
unusual thing to see in our audience a heavy 
sprinkling of men and women in full dress, with 
here and there some foreign ambassador in full 
regalia, and of "the boys in blue" we always 
had a good contingent. 



75 



CHAPTER XII 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN — WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD — PLA- 
CIDE'S HUMOUR — "STILL WATERS RUN DEEP" — AS- 
SASSINATION OF THE PRESIDENT — A NIGHT OF TERROR 

It was a very pleasant occasion on which for 
the first time I met Abraham Lincoln. It is 
not to be supposed, that, in such times as those 
of which I write, the President, borne down 
as he was by public cares, had either time or 
inclination for amusement ; but he dearly loved 
the theatre and was present at several of our 
performances. It was after one of these visits 
that he notified Wallack and Davenport that 
he would be pleased to see them. 

The day following the receipt of this invitation 
they went to the White House, and, like the 
good fellows they were, asked me to accom- 
pany them. When, in my turn, I was pre- 
sented to the President, he took my hand, and, 
holding it while he looked down upon me from 
his great height, said: "So this is the little 
lady that all us folks in Washington like so 

7 6 



WILLIAM HENRY SEWARD 

much?" Then, with a portentous shake of 
his head, but with a twinkle in his eye, he 
continued, " Don't you ever come 'round here, 
asking me to do some of those impossible things 
you women always ask for, for I would have 
to do it, and then I'd get into trouble." 

I met Mr. Seward under different circum- 
stances, — at a social function. I enjoyed the 
privilege of personal introduction to him, and 
I felt greatly distinguished. When Mr. Seward, 
with his stately, old-school manner, bowed low 
over my hand and expressed himself as being 
gratified at having this opportunity of greeting 
me, it seemed as if he were conferring upon 
me a patent of nobility. 

It is impossible to think of two more contrast- 
ing personalities than those of Lincoln and Sew- 
ard: the one so simple, warm-hearted, and 
free-spoken; the other so stately, cold, and dig- 
nified. When Mr. Seward spoke a few com- 
plimentary commonplaces to any one, the 
person addressed felt as if he or she were par- 
ticipating in history. 

But to return to the theatre. One night we 

77 



ROSE EYTINGE 

were playing Dion Boucicault's " London As- 
surance," Wallack acting Dazzle, Davenport 
Sir Harcourt Courtley, and I Lady Gay Spanker. 
In the scene between Sir Harcourt and Lady 
Gay, when she asks him if her agitation renders 
her unfit to re-enter the ballroom, Davenport, 
instead of replying according to the text, said: 
"Your beauty is only heightened by a Rose- 
Eytinge " — pronouncing it " Rosytinge. " The 
house took the pun instantly, and I made my 
exit amid a storm of applause and laughter. 

Again, one night, during a performance of Bul- 
wer's comedy "Money," with Wallack as Al- 
fred Evelyn, Davenport as Smooth, Placide as 
Graves, and I as Clara Douglas, in the scene 
where the will, which carries disappointment 
and chagrin to so many hearts, is read, we 
were seated in a semicircle across the stage, 
and I found myself directly opposite Placide. 
Through the whole scene he made at intervals 
a sort of procession of the most excruciatingly 
funny, lugubrious faces. My attention became 
riveted on Placide. I found him irresistibly 
funny, and the audience seemed to be entirely 

78 



PLACIDE'S HUMOUR 

of my mind, for the scene went with hearty and 
continuous laughter. But several times I no- 
ticed, and I was greatly puzzled by it, that 
when my glance wandered for a moment from 
Placide and rested upon one or other of the per- 
sons engaged in the scene, I was met with frowns 
and sly negative nods, and divers other evidences 
of disapproval. When the curtain fell I was 
promptly enlightened as to the cause of their 
conduct. 

It seems that my enjoyment of Placide' s grim- 
aces had been so great that it took the highest 
form of compliment, and that during the whole 
scene I had been busy following, and uncon- 
sciously imitating, every one of them. I had 
thus been unwittingly sharing the scene with 
Placide and furnishing the cause for the laughter 
of the house. 

A favourite bill with us was Tom Taylor's com- 
edy, " Still Waters Run Deep," Wallack giving 
a delightful performance of John Mildmay, and 
Davenport playing Hawksley with equal bril- 
liancy. When the piece was first played by 
us I was cast for Mrs. Mildmay, because she 

79 



ROSE EYTINGE 

was young and amiable, but as soon as I learned 
how much better an acting part was Mrs. Stern- 
hold, I insisted upon playing that character 
instead. It was useless for Wallack and Daven- 
port to point out to me, as they did repeatedly 
and strenuously, that she was, to say the least, 
middle-aged, and that in order to play the part 
I would be obliged to make up middle-aged, 
thus destroying my appearance of youthfulness, 
and artistically doing myself a present and 
future injury. Play her I would, and play her 
I did. 

One day Mr. Wallack felt called upon to take 
me seriously to task for something I had said 
which would have been much better left unsaid. 
I felt the full force of his rebuke, because I knew 
that my position was indefensible. So I put 
on a bold front and made a sweeping denial. 
We were seated opposite each other at the 
breakfast-table, and when I found myself ac- 
cused I planted my elbows on the table, and, 
putting my face between my hands, I looked 
him squarely in the eyes and said, deliberately 
and incisively, "I have no recollection of hav- 
ing ever said anything of the kind." Wallack 

80 



AN UNEXPECTED HIT 

looked at me and made no reply. He was 
silenced, — I dare not say by what. 

That night the bill was "Still Waters Run 
Deep." In the second act Wallack and my- 
self, in our respective parts, were seated oppo- 
site each other in precisely the same positions 
as those which we occupied that morning, and 
Wallack, in his character of Mildtnay, repeated 
to me the slighting remarks which he was sup- 
posed to have overheard me make to his wife 
with reference to himself. 

In the text I merely offered a general denial; 
but this night I assumed the same expression 
and used the identical words I had used in real 
life in the morning, exclaiming, "I have no 
recollection of having ever said anything of the 
sort"! Either my effrontery, or Wallack's 
realistic amazement, caught the audience. The 
point made a hit, and ever afterward the 
speech, with the accompanying "business" of 
Wallack and myself, became an integral por- 
tion of that scene. 



81 



ROSE EYTINGE 



I now approach one of the most awful 
and awe-inspiring periods of my life, — the 
night on which President Lincoln was assas- 
sinated. 

At the time I was taking a brief vacation, 
and was visiting the family of an army officer 
who was in charge of a military hospital a few 
miles out of town. On that dread occasion my 
hostess and I had been in town for the day 
and evening and it had been arranged that an 
orderly, with the carriage, should call for us 
next morning and drive us out home. 

Suddenly some of the men of the household 
where we were visiting dashed into the house, 
bringing intelligence of the crime. 

The first reports were that the President and 
every member of the Cabinet were murdered. 
The community was wild with horror. Every- 
body, as if moved by one impulse, rushed into 
the streets, the church bells were tolled, and all 
social and conventional barriers were levelled 
in the general horror. Utter strangers talked 
together in hurried accents, exchanging the 
various rumours with which the air was filled. 

82 



LINCOLN'S ASSASSINATION 

One report had it that Washington was in the 
hands of the rebels. Strangers accosted each 
other and asked for the last news; and when 
one or the other confirmed the dreadful truth 
of the President's murder they cried like chil- 
dren. 

Soon it became bruited about that the crime 
had been committed by an actor, and woe to 
the actor who had been found on the streets 
that night ! My friends and I, in common with 
everybody else, rushed into the street, but we 
were soon filled with fear lest I should be rec- 
ognised. 

Toward midnight, to our added alarm and 
horror, an army ambulance lumbered up the 
street and stopped at the door of the house 
where we were. It developed that, as had been 
arranged, the carriage had been sent for us, but 
it had been so often stopped and searched, and 
the orderly who was driving had been put 
through so many and such rigid examinations, 
that he had decided to turn back and get the 
ambulance instead, hoping that the sight of 
this familiar and authorised vehicle would at- 
tract less attention. 

83 



ROSE EYTINGE 

By this time the city was declared under mar- 
tial law, every point of egress was closely guarded, 
and the members of the theatrical guild were 
looked upon with universal disfavour. The air 
seemed rife with murder and the suspicion of 
murder. 

It was a time to burn itself into one's memory. 
I pray that I may never be called upon to go 
through its like again. 

mmmfflmmmmmmMBam 



CHAPTER XIII 

NEW YORK — WALLACK'S THEATRE — NANCY SYKES — 
LEADING WOMAN WITH LESTER WALLACK — PERFECT 
THEATRICAL MANAGEMENT — MARY GANNON — CHARLES 
DICKENS — LOVE FOR THE STAGE 

The next step in my progress as an actress was 
coming to New York with Davenport and Wal- 
lack, who had made an engagement with Lester 
Wallack to play a spring and summer season 
at Wallack's — afterward the Star — Theatre. 
Here we played all our regular repertory and 
renewed all our old successes. 

It was during this season that I made my step 
into melodrama. It had been the rule, when- 
ever we played " Oliver Twist, " to send for Mrs. 
Wallack to join us for the part of Nancy Sykes, 
and when it was settled that that piece should 
be given, this was the programme settled upon 
by the powers. 

But I seriously disarranged matters by an- 
nouncing my intention to play Nancy. When 
I voiced my wish, both Wallack and Davenport 

85 



ROSE EYTINGE 

were convulsed with laughter. The more I 
urged, the more they laughed; and the more 
they laughed, the more my wish crystallised into 
determination. 

When my position in the matter forced them 
to view the question seriously, they each in 
turn, and each in his own way, placed before 
me the absurdity of my attempting to play such 
a part, and they pointed out to me how, in 
every particular — physically, mentally, and 
temperamentally — I was wholly unequipped 
for it. The more they argued, the more posi- 
tive I became. At last an appeal was made to 
Lester Wallack. He simply pooh-poohed my 
wish and also laughed me out of court. But 
1 ' a wilful woman ' ' 

They gave way, Lester Wallack suggesting, by 
way of compromise, that some light one-act 
piece should be put on to end the performance, 
in which I could look myself, in order that the 
audience should not take away with them the 
ghastly picture of Nancy in her death throes. 

When we were rehearsing, both Wallack and 
Davenport never wearied of impressing upon 
me the necessity for me to make a fierce, realistic 

86 




LESTER WALLA CK 



A REALISTIC PERFORMANCE 

struggle to break away from Bill Sykes's re- 
straining arms, when I should try to attack 
Fagin. I felt very desirous to play the part 
well, and thus redeem my promise, and by so 
doing justify the faith which my managers had 
been induced, at last, to place in me when they 
yielded their judgment at my urging. 

The night of the performance I was wrought 
up to the highest pitch of nervous excitement; 
for then I realised for the first time the import- 
ance of the task I had laid out for myself. 

The scene of the fight, which ended the second 
act, began, and I had seized the stick with 
which Fagin had been about to beat Oliver. 
Davenport, flinging his arms around me in a 
close grasp, kept whispering in my ear: "Try 
to break away from me! Try! Try!" I 
tried, and, lo! I succeeded. With a vigorous 
wrench I broke from his arms, flew across the 
stage, and with the stick struck poor Mr. Wal- 
lack a sounding thwack on the side of his head ; 
he went down like a shot, and then he rolled 
and rolled — almost into the footlights. 

Down came the curtain, leaving Nancy mis- 
tress of the situation, and Fagin, quite outside 



ROSE EYTINGE 

of it, obliged to pick himself up and walk off at 
first entrance. Thereafter, whatever may have 
been the opinion of the managers as to my per- 
formance of the part, they never again expressed 
any doubt of my ability to carry that struggle. 
The piece ran many weeks and was the success 
of the season. 

This summer season of the Wallack-Davenport 
combination at Wallack's Theatre bore excel- 
lent fruit for me. It resulted in my receiving 
from Lester Wallack the offer of the position 
of leading woman at his theatre for the following 
regular season. I need scarcely say how grat- 
ified I was upon receiving such an offer, and 
how eagerly I accepted it, though if the Wallack- 
Davenport combination had not been upon the 
eve of dissolution I do not think that even so 
brilliant an opportunity of advancement would 
have tempted me to leave my two dear friends. 
But the state of J. W. Wallack's health forced 
him into retirement, and in little more than a 
year afterward he died. 

What a school of acting was Wallack's Theatre ! 



PERFECT MANAGEMENT 

With the business portion — the front of the 
house — under the able control of Theodore 
Moss, and the stage-management in the hands 
of Lester Wallack, courtesy and kindness ruled 
on both sides of the curtain. Everybody em- 
ployed in the theatre, whether a principal or 
a call-boy, was treated with consideration. 

Every Saturday, at noon, the company would 
assemble in the greenroom, and thither would 
come Theodore Moss, with a pleasant greeting 
on his lips and a tin box under his arm. Then 
the salaries were paid, and, if a member of the 
company were ill, his salary was sent to him 
every week, together with pleasant words of 
hope and good wishes. 

The rehearsals were conducted in the same 
spirit. True, Lester would occasionally "let 
out" if some one or other were unusually stupid, 
but the outburst was pretty sure to be followed 
by some little gracious act or word that effect- 
ually removed the sting. 

But there was one unfailing refuge from a re- 
proof at the hands of "the governor," and that 
was to tell him a funny story. He had an ex- 
quisite wit and a keen sense of humour. Once 



ROSE EYTINGE 

catch his eye, or his ear, for either one or the 
other, and, no matter how great your fault or 
how late you might be for rehearsal, you were 
safe. 

I was fortunate enough, while at Wallack's 
Theatre, to have an opportunity to play a great 
variety of parts, embracing at times three lines 
of business. This opportunity came to me 
through two important vacancies which oc- 
curred in the company. 

Dear little Mary Gannon, one of the sweetest 
little women that ever graced the world, and 
one of the best actresses that ever graced the 
stage, died, and at Mr. Wallack's request I 
played several of her parts, notably Rosa Leigh 
in "Rosedale." When Fanny Morant, who 
played the ultra-fashionable dames, and the 
high and mighty ones generally, left the com- 
pany in mid-season, I played several of her 
parts. 

While I was associated with Wallack's Theatre, 
my desire to hear Charles Dickens read was so 
great that when, in the spring, I was making 

90 



CHARLES DICKENS 

my engagements with Lester Wallack for the 
following season, I begged him to insert a 
clause in the contract by which I would be left 
out of the bills for one of Dickens's series, which 
were made up of four evenings. 

When the distinguished novelist arrived, Wal- 
lack, true to his word, and with the gracious- 
ness which always marked his conduct, gave 
me the opportunity to attend his first course, 
which was given at Steinway Hall. The night 
of the first reading I was in a fever of delighted 
anticipation. I was going, not so much to see 
and hear the great author, Charles Dickens, 
but to meet old friends, the men and women 
whom I knew and loved. They might, in- 
deed, be the creations of the wondrous imagina- 
tion of their author, but to me they were real, 
true, breathing men and women. 

Dickens came upon the platform, and my first 
feelings were those of disappointment. Dickens 
was a dandy — decidedly a dandy — and a 
rather mean-looking dandy at that. Certainly 
he stood upon as mean-looking a pair of legs 
as I ever saw. He was dressed in a pair of 
light-coloured trousers; a rather flashy waist- 

91 



ROSE EYTINGE 

coat, across which stretched a very self-assertive 
watch-chain, balanced in the middle with a fat 
locket; and a brown surtout with collar and 
cuffs of velvet and very much drawn in at the 
waist. 

But my deepest disappointment came when he 
began to read. His pathos — to my mind, — 
was so thin, so flippant, and strained, that my 
impulse was to say to him: "Do not read that 
chapter; you do not know your characters; 
you cannot do justice to their author." Of 
course my position was untenable and absurdly 
impertinent, and my rebuke was swift and 
scathing. His comedy was as delightful as his 
pathos was unsatisfying, and he suited his man- 
ner so accurately to his characters that, as he 
read, the little overdressed man with the shad- 
owy legs and pink face disappeared, the cold 
white platform faded away, and I was at the 
Holly-tree Inn, or wherever the magic of his 
voice pleased to take me. It was my good 
fortune a year or two afterward to meet Charles 
Dickens in his own country, and I bear in my 
memory the most agreeable recollections of him ; 
but I must confess that I found a much more 

92 



VISIT TO THE ORIENT 

solid enjoyment in making acquaintance with 
and learning to know Dickens's men and women 
through the medium of his written language, 
than I did in hearing his spoken words. 

I left Wallaces Theatre to go abroad. Family 
reasons called me to the Orient, and in "that 
land of sand and ruin and song" I passed 
several years. 

I did not take leave of the stage on my de- 
parture from it at that time. I never have done 
so, nor will I ever willingly do so. I have al- 
ways given the stage my loyalty and my love, 
and I will give up my interest in the theatre 
and my loving work in the drama only when 
I am called to another life. 



93 



CHAPTER XIV 

MY FIRST SEA VOYAGE — CAPTAIN JUDKINS AND THE 
"SCOTIA" — SEA-SICKNESS — GOODWOOD RACES — THE 
PRINCE OF WALES AGAIN — IN THE QUEEN'S BOX AT 
THE OPERA — SMUGGLING — ROCHESTER, N. Y. — A 
LEADING WOMAN IN A SAD PREDICAMENT 

It was in the summer following the close of my 
first season as leading woman at Wallack's 
Theatre that I first went abroad, and then I 
took the voyage across the Atlantic by way of 
a prescription. 

I was pretty well worn out in both mind and 
body. So far as I can remember, there had not 
been any long runs during the season, and I 
had seldom, if ever, been out of the bill; so, 
what with study, rehearsals, costumers, and 
dressmakers, I had had very little rest. But, 
as so often happens with persons whose work 
is congenial, I was not conscious of fatigue until 
the necessity for the work ended. Then I went 
to pieces. 

An ocean trip was strongly recommended to 
give me complete rest. It must, of necessity, 

94 



AN OCEAN TRIP 

be a hurried one, for there was an interval of 
only a few weeks between the closing of one 
season and the opening of the next. 

Captain Judkins, the oldest captain and by 
courtesy the " commodore " of the Cunard fleet 
of steamers, suggested that I make a round 
trip on his famous old paddle-wheel ship, the 
" Scotia." She would remain a week in port, 
and this would give me an opportunity to run 
up to London for a few days, and perhaps to 
Paris. 

Augustin Daly, who was then my fast friend, 
attended to all details, and in just twelve hours 
from the time I had settled to go I was on 
board. Long before we passed the Narrows 
I was the seasickest, sorriest, homesickest little 
woman that ever "went down to the sea" in a 
ship. 

And the seasickest I continued to be until the 
" Scotia" entered the Mersey; though there 
were brief intervals of comparative relief, and 
in those intervals I managed to obtain glimpses 
of pleasant faces. Notably among those living 
in my memory is Sir Edward Cunard, at that 
time the principal owner of the Cunard Line. 

95 



ROSE EYTINGE 

I am afraid, however, that Sir Edward " prac- 
tised'' upon me; he was so kindly solicitous 
to relieve me that at various times he tried upon 
me every obtainable known and unknown rem- 
edy for seasickness, and I think he managed 
to get them all. I was far too limp and languid 
to refuse, so I meekly took everything he brought 
me. And at times the result was simply awful, 
— no wonder I remember him. 

I received but scant sympathy from Captain 
Judkins. He would come and look in at the 
window of his cabin, which he had kindly 
placed at my disposal, and shake his head dis- 
approvingly at me; or he would suggest a little 
luncheon when the mere mention of food was 
worse than death to me. But at last the dread- 
ful voyage ended, and as soon as possible after 
the ship docked at Liverpool I set out for Lon- 
don, and, being there, I made my way, of 
course, to the Langham Hotel, which was then 
the haven of all good Americans who went to 
London. There I received the warmest kind 
of welcome from Colonel Sanderson. 

To my great good fortune, the day following 
my arrival there were the Goodwood races, to 

9 6 



THE PRINCE OF WALES 

which Colonel Sanderson invited me. There I 
had the additional good fortune again to meet 
the Prince of Wales. When Colonel Sanderson 
went to pay his respects to the Prince, he told 
him of my being present, and his Royal High- 
ness called upon me. Once again we ate and 
drank together from the luncheon which Col- 
onel Sanderson had brought. The Prince ex- 
pressed his polite regrets that he was leaving 
town the next day, but, looking at the Colonel, 
laughingly said that he left me in good hands, 
and that he hoped for the pleasure of seeing 
me on his return. In the meantime, if there 
was anything he could do, I had but to com- 
mand him. 

Colonel Sanderson explained to the Prince how 
brief my stay was to be, whereupon he repeated 
his regrets. He asked if I would like to attend 
the opera, and on my replying that I would, 
he said he would attend to the matter. And 
thus the royal visit ended. 

But, oh, dear ! what a lioness I was ! The drag 
on top of which this reception took place was 
mobbed by a gaping, wondering crowd that, 
greatly to my relief, trailed off at the heels of 

97 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the Prince. But I was called upon to pass 
through a worse ordeal than the gaze of the 
mob, which had been kept at a respectful dis- 
tance by the "bobbies." 

Every glass on the racecourse was levelled at 
me, and a sort of promenade of swells filed past 
our drag in order to examine at close range 
this person whom, nobody knew, and to whom 
the Prince of Wales had shown such unusual 
attention. For me, I was not nearly so much 
impressed by the event as I suppose I ought to 
have been. I have never felt any great respect 
for rank as mere rank, and a prince, after all, 
is but a man who has more opportunities for 
doing good work in the world than most men. 

I ought to say here that the Prince of Wales 
sent me a box for the opera at Covent Garden 
Theatre, — the Queen's, no less! — and the only 
special impression that I remember it to have 
made upon me was that it was rather stuffy. 

My week ashore was a long time passing, 
though every hour of every day was filled, and 
every evening too. But I was homesick, — 
deadly, drearily homesick; and the thought of 



SMUGGLING 

that vast, cold, cruel Atlantic rolling between 
me and my home and everything and every- 
body I loved haunted me day and night. 

At last Friday arrived, and I journeyed down 
to Liverpool, with my purse empty, but with 
my trunks filled with beautiful silks and satins 
and laces and furbelows which I dishonestly 
intended to smuggle. 

The trip home — though bad enough — was 
not quite so bad as the voyage out; but the 
ship's nose was pointed westward, and the con- 
sciousness that every roll and plunge which she 
made brought me nearer to Manhattan Island 
gave me courage. Early in the voyage I had 
confided to Captain Judkins my nefarious in- 
tentions toward Uncle Sam, and he, after 
heaping reproaches upon me for my want of 
patriotism, had threatened to expose me to the 
customs officers as soon as they came aboard. 

He would make this threat with so serious a 
face that I could not decide whether he meant 
it or not. When the officers came on board, 
and the business of " declaring" had begun, 
I became thoroughly frightened, and fled to 
the captain for protection. He was more in- 
LOF 99 



ROSE EYTINGE 

exorable than ever, and he left me coiled up in 
a corner of the sofa in his cabin, frightened, and 
uncertain whether to "declare'' everything or 
to wait and trust to luck. 

My terror reached its climax when the cap- 
tain's "boy" appeared with "the captain's compli- 
ments, and would I please send him my keys?" 
Still nothing happened. After what seemed to 
me an interminable time, in walked the old 
sea-dog, bringing with him the much-dreaded 
custom-house officer. The latter was courtesy 
itself, and he told me that as Captain Judkins 
had explained to him that I had important 
business which demanded my immediate at- 
tention he would see to it that I should not be 
detained; that I could leave the moment the 
ship got in, and my trunks should be forwarded 
to my address immediately they were brought 
on deck. 

It was about this time, usually between sea- 
sons, that I made my first essays as a star. I 
received an offer to go to Rochester for a week, 
and I accepted. The morning after my arrival 
in that city I went to the theatre. It was 



AT THE ROCHESTER THEATRE 

empty, dirty, and cold, and presented an ap- 
pearance of utter desolation. I waited about 
for some time, being exhorted thereto by a for- 
lorn old man whom I found crouched in a sort 
of cage at the stage door, which looked, if possi- 
ble, more forlorn than he did. He besought 
me to "wait a while, the b'ys and gyurls will 
be around here in a shake." 

After a brief time my old friend's words were 
verified. A few men and women came strag- 
gling aimlessly in, and certainly a more dis- 
contented, frowsy, unkempt set of mortals I 
hope never to see. Still we waited, for neither 
the manager, stage-manager, nor leading man 
had put in an appearance. The day was 
dreary, I was weary, and still they came not. 
So I returned to my hotel in a very unsettled 
frame of mind. 

After an hour or two the manager called, and 
apologies, regrets, and profuse assurances that 
everything would be all right at night were 
offered, with the further assurance that he — 
the manager — was then going to the theatre 
personally to conduct the rehearsal, which I 
need not be troubled to attend. In the even- 

IOI 



ROSE EYTINGE 

ing, feeling no great confidence in those man- 
agerial promises, I went to the theatre early. 
The stage door was reached through a narrow 
passage leading from the street. In this pas- 
sage-way, which was quite dark, I fell over 
something rather bulky and soft which ob- 
structed the way. I summoned to my assist- 
ance, from his post in the cage, my forlorn 
old friend of the morning, and really he seemed 
to be the only person connected with the es- 
tablishment who ever was at his post. From 
him I learned that the impediment which had 
barred my way to the temple of art was the 
leading man. 

Feeling thoroughly discouraged by this dis- 
covery I returned to my hotel, packed my be- 
longings, and left town by the first train, trusting 
to some later occasion for a more favourable 
opportunity to make my first bow to a Roches- 
ter audience. 



CHAPTER XV 

TORONTO — "THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN" — A MINISTER- 
ING ANGEL JEANIE DEANS A CONVERTED PRES- 
BYTERIAN "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER" GEORGE 

HOLLAND AS TONY LUMPKIN 

My next essay at starring was not much more 
pleasant or profitable than was my Rochester 
experience, but as it led to my forming a friend- 
ship with a singularly interesting and delight- 
ful woman I always think of it with gratitude. 
At the time of which I write there was a small 
theatre in Broadway, New York, on the site of 
that quaint, rugged, grey-stone building known 
as "Ye Olde London Streete.' , It was then 
under the management of two capable old 
actors, Mark Smith and Lewis Baker, the 
fathers of the two actors of the same names, 
respectively, of to-day. These gentlemen had 
arranged for a production of Scott's "The 
Heart of Midlothian," and they engaged me 
to play Jeanie Deans. 

Just previous to the opening I had an offer to 
103 



ROSE EYTINGE 

go to Toronto to star for a week. I went, 
taking with me Scott's novel and my part of 
Jeanie. 

I found the theatre at Toronto in compara- 
tively as complete a state of demoralisation as 
the Rochester concern, and, I suspect, from 
the same cause. 

But the members of the company were good 
enough to be present for rehearsals, and all the 
discomforts of the theatre were more than com- 
pensated for by the cosy comfort I found at the 
Queen's Hotel, a hostelry then conducted by 
Captain Dick, an old retired lake captain. 

The weather was bitterly cold, and the theatre 
was like an ice-house. After all these years, as 
my memory carries me back to the horror of 
that dimly-lighted, freezingly cold, long, nar- 
row den which was miscalled a dressing-room, 
to which I was shown, the old, cold misery 
of that moment returns upon me. In addition 
to my other discomforts I was attacked by a 
violent siege of neuralgia. 

I got through a performance, of what I do 
not remember, and by the time I returned to my 
hotel I was almost mad with pain. Thinking 

104 



A MINISTERING ANGEL 

to distract my thoughts, I drew a table beside 
my bed, took from the chimney-piece a pair 
of old-fashioned candlesticks, lighted the can- 
dles which they contained, and, armed with 
my story and the part, I set in to study 
Jeanie. 

The last thing I remember was feeling be- 
numbed with the cold, and suffering intense 
pain in my head. 

The next sensations of which I was conscious 
were of subdued light, release from pain, and 
a general and delightful sense of warmth and 
comfort; then of hearing a low, soft voice say- 
ing, "Sit up now, dear, and take your tea." 

I opened my eyes, and there, bending over me, 
was a woman, not old, not very young, with a 
lovely, lovable face, lighted by a pair of blue 
eyes, and with a mouth large, mobile, expres- 
sive at once of a tender, generous nature, and 
yet made more interesting by lines of delicate 
humour; the whole surmounted by a crown of 
snow-white hair. My first confused thought 
was that I had been "translated," and if this 
was the "other world" I found my sensations 
and surroundings such an improvement on 

105 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the state I last remembered that I was more 
than satisfied with the change. 

"Ah!" said my pleasant-looking visitor, "you 
are awake; now we will have some tea." And 
there was placed before me upon the table be- 
side my bed a daintily served breakfast. 

This somewhat disturbed the trend of my 
thoughts, for my ideas of "that bourne' ' had 
never included "'atin' and dhrinkin'.'' 

But the breakfast was too entirely satisfactory, 
and my enjoyment of it too thorough. All 
thoughts of the spirit land fled; I knew that I 
was upon the earth, and I also felt assured that 
I was very pleasantly placed at that particular 
moment. 

It seemed that when the maid had knocked 
at my door some hours previously she received 
no response, and upon the door being opened 
I was found in a faint. I had a trick of indulg- 
ing myself in that way in those days. Miss 
Dick, the lady upon whom I had opened my 
eyes, and a member of Captain Dick's family, 
was summoned, and all the comfort and cosi- 
ness of my surroundings I owed to her kind 
ministrations. 

1 06 



JEANIE DEANS 

As we talked I discovered by the soft burr of 
her tongue and the musical intonations of her 
voice that she was Scotch, and the volume of 
Scott which she had found upon my table had 
been the passport to her heart. When I ex- 
plained to her the cause of its presence there, 
and told her of my engagement to play Jeanie 
Deans on my return to New York, she offered 
to teach me the accent. 

This she did, and in addition gave me a real 
"maud" of the Stewart tartan, of which house 
the Argylls were followers. 

When I afterward played Jeanie, and when my 
costume and my accent were alike praised, I 
felt that I was, in a way, defrauding press and 
public of their plaudits, all of which belonged 
to Miss Dick, — good, pious, Presbyterian Miss 
Dick, who had never in her life seen the inside 
of a playhouse. But despite her strict Pres- 
byterianism I led her, or rather she wandered, 
from the fold into the theatre. 

Accompanied by a niece, she came to visit me. 
Knowing her strict religious principles and 
prejudices I made no suggestion to them to 
visit any theatre, but was at great pains to pro- 

107 



ROSE EYTINGE 

vide them with entertainments more adapted 
to their habits of life. I sent them to con- 
certs, lectures, missionary meetings, and such 
innocuous gatherings. 

One evening, as we were gathered around the 
tea-table prior to my departure for my "shop," 
I was a good deal puzzled to observe the aunt 
and niece exchanging mysterious glances and 
secret nudges, and soon these were abandoned 
for equally puzzling speech, — "You tell her"; 
"No, you ask her," etc. At last their wish 
found clear expression. They wanted to go 
to the theatre, to see Lester Wallack and my- 
self act. 

Only too pleased to comply with their request, 
I mentioned the incident that evening to Mr. 
Wallack, with all its attendant details. With 
that genial courtesy which was one of his many 
graceful qualities, he at once responded by 
placing his own box at my friends' disposal, 
and the following evening they occupied it. 
Perhaps, however, I ought to qualify the latter 
statement, for the reason that during the per- 
formance the greater portions of them were 
hanging over the railing of the box, and so 

1 08 



WALLACK 'S BRILLIANT WORK 

great was their delighted absorption of the 
scene, and their utter and complete forgetful- 
ness of the audience, that several times I feared 
they would precipitate themselves upon the 
stage. 

I think Lester Wallack enjoyed their enthu- 
siasm quite as much as they enjoyed his w T ork. 
The piece was "She Stoops to Conquer." 
Wallack was in great form and impersonated 
Young Marlowe brilliantly. He played to 
them the whole evening in the most flagrant 
manner, and their admiration for him was 
something beautiful to see. But their love, 
full and unbounded, was given to old George 
Holland, who, of course, played Tony Lump- 
kin. 

Indeed it was a pleasant sight, one not easily 
to be forgotten, to see that silver-haired, elderly 
lady, dressed simply and severely in black, and 
her bonnie girl companion, so completely 
carried out of the commonplace of everyday 
life by that mimic picture. The culmination 
of their adventure occurred as we were leaving 
the theatre. Mr. Holland, at the close of the 
performances, used to sit in a little nook at 
109 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the stage door and wait for his son "Ned," who 
came every night to take his father home. 
When, as we were leaving the theatre, I stopped 
for a moment's chat and good-night with him, 
Miss Dick asked me who it was I spoke to. 
When I told her it was Tony Lumpkin, she 
impulsively turned back, put her arms around 
dear old Holland's neck and kissed him, saying, 
"God bless you, Tony!" 

The visit to the theatre that night marked an 
epoch in my friend's life. She was a woman 
possessing a rare intelligence, great breadth of 
mind, and independence of character. She 
frankly acknowledged that she now felt con- 
vinced that by her lifelong absence from the 
theatre she had made a great mistake, and had 
deprived herself of much pleasure and intel- 
lectual growth, a mistake which for the rest of 
her life she would correct. And she kept her 
word. 



•/ 



5IO 



CHAPTER XVI 

AUGUSTIN DALY AND THE NEW YORK THEATRE — " UNDER 
THE GASLIGHT" — DAVENPORT IN MISCHIEF — " CASTE " 
— W. J. FLORENCE — MRS. GILBERT — STARRING — 
NEWARK, N. J. — WASHINGTON 

The management under which I played 
Jeanie Deans did not last long, and their vacat- 
ing the New York Theatre opened its doors to 
Augustin Daly, who, then a very young man 
and occupying the position of dramatic critic on 
the New York " Evening Express," took the 
theatre as a weekly tenant. 

Mr. Daly afterward told me that when he be- 
came the lessee of that theatre his entire capital 
did not reach the sum of five hundred dollars. 
It was his third venture into the theatrical busi- 
ness, although but his first step into regular 
management. His first had been his arrange- 
ment into dramatic form of Mosenthal's drama 
of "Deborah," which he called "Leah, the For- 
saken," for Kate Bateman. This was followed 



ROSE EYTINGE 

by an attempt to make a successful star of 
Avonia Jones. 

But Daly had always been a manager; his 
mother told me that when he was a very small 
boy he played at management and never wished 
to play at anything else. When other boys 
would evince a very natural desire to play 
"tag" or "hop-scotch," or any other of the 
games to which small boys are addicted, Daly 
would organise his comrades into a stock com- 
pany and manage them. He never attempted 
to act himself, but, even as a child, he cast his 
pieces and handled his company with the 
single-mindedness that characterised him after- 
ward. 

So now, when his life-long ambition was in 
the inception of its realisation, he was perfectly 
equipped for his work, concentrated in his 
methods, self-contained and self-reliant, know- 
ing exactly what he wanted to do and how he 
meant to do it. 

He began his career as a manager with the 
production of his own dramatisation of Charles 
Reade's novel, "Griffith Gaunt," then popular. 

The name of the heroine was Kate Peyton, and 




AUGUSTIN DALY 



AUGUSTIN DALY'S OFFER 

Daly, having his own fixed ideas of just what 
sort of actress he wanted to personate this hero- 
ine, had experienced great difficulty in finding 
her. His offering the part to me, or rather his 
suggesting to me the possibility that I might 
be induced to play it, was quite accidental, and 
occurred at our first meeting. 

One of the actresses whom he was considering 
for the part was visiting me, and Mr. Daly 
called to see her. At her request I received 
him. We discussed the story and the character 
of Kate, with the result that, with one of those 
gusts of sudden resolution to which he was ad- 
dicted, he asked me if I would play the part. 
On account of the terms of my contract with 
Lester Wallack, I was not free to consider the 
offer; but I was greatly taken with and in- 
terested in the serious-eyed, intensely earnest 
young manager. He urged me to promise to 
consider playing the part if Mr. Wallack's con- 
sent to my doing so could be obtained. 

This promise I made. In an incredibly brief 
time this man, young, unknown, and without 
influence, managed to see Mr. Wallack, and 
returned to me armed with a note containing 

113 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the desired permission, only making the con- 
dition that I would not play in New York later 
than within six weeks of the opening of the 
regular season. There was no talk of terms 
between us. Indeed, at this stage of the ne- 
gotiation there could not very well have been. 

Daly now had his theatre, his company, and 
possibly his heroine. He had gathered about 
him a company of exceptional excellence, his 
leading man being J. K. Mortimar, and we 
began rehearsing. 

During the first rehearsal Mr. Daly interrupted 
me from time to time, to give me instructions 
as to this or that bit of business. But I was 
feeling my way through the part, and these in- 
terruptions, though undoubtedly judicious and 
necessary, made me nervous and uncertain in 
my work; so I went quietly to him, where he 
sat at the prompt table, reminded him that 
this rehearsal was only a trial, and begged that 
he would allow me to struggle through the part 
uninterrupted. I suggested that he should 
make notes of any changes which he wished 
me to make, and if I played the part we could 
incorporate these changes in future rehearsals. 

114 



DALY'S ASPIRATIONS 

To all these suggestions he promptly and 
amiably assented. 

I played Kate. The piece ran several weeks. 
During its run my serious-eyed young man- 
ager told me of an original play which he was 
writing, and which he wished to produce at 
the close of the run of "Griffith Gaunt." This 
piece was "Under the Gaslight." 

At his invitation I went to his home in Ho- 
ratio Street, where he lived with his mother 
and brother, and he read me the play. Even 
then his artistic aspirations and longings were 
struggling for expression. The walls of the 
conventional little room, which was fitted up 
as a sort of "den" and writing-room, were 
coloured a dark blue, and there were little 
plaster casts and small pictures scattered about ; 
and everywhere there were evidences of his 
reaching out after a literary and artistic at- 
mosphere. 

The result of this visit was that I agreed to 
originate the part of Laura Courtland. 

Again Daly surrounded himself with an ex- 
ceptionally good company, J. K. Mortimar 
playing the character part, and Dolly Daven- 

IT 5 



ROSE EYTINGE 

port the lead. I confess I do not remember 
the story. I only remember that the situation 
of the piece is where I break down a door with 
an axe which I opportunely find, and rescue 
somebody who is lashed down on a railroad 
track, and that this "business" was preceded 
by my frantic exclamation, "The axe, the 
axe!" 

This exclamation became a sort of catch- 
word, and Davenport, who was an incorrigible 
guyer, used to serve it up to me on all possible 
and impossible occasions, with the result that 
there was a great deal too much giggling and 
guying during the performance. 

Mr. Daly, who was then the same watchful, 
ubiquitous manager he always was, tried every 
available means to check us, with, I am sorry 
to say, very little success. 

One night, in sheer desperation, he threatened 
Davenport, upon whom — with how much jus- 
tice I will not say — he looked as the ring- 
leader, with immediate discharge if he did 
not on the following night and at every per- 
formance thereafter play the part seriously. 

The next night Davenport made his appear- 



DAVENPORT IN MISCHIEF 

ance dressed completely in black, even wearing 
black kid gloves throughout the entire perform- 
ance; and he played the part throughout 
without a smile, investing it with unbroken, 
lugubrious gloom. The result was that every 
scene in which he appeared, even the most 
serious ones, went with shouts of laughter; 
and the more the audience laughed, the more 
solemnly serious Davenport became. 

When the final curtain fell, Daly appeared 
and fairly and frankly gave up the fight. He 
begged Davenport to doff his a suit of solemn 
black" and play the part as he had always 
played it. 

The magnanimous action of our young mana- 
ger had the effect of making us all feel heart- 
ily ashamed of ourselves, and from that night, by 
unanimous decision, there was no more guying. 

These two engagements under Daly's man- 
agement resulted in a friendship between him 
and myself that ended only with his life. We 
became good comrades. His duty as dra- 
matic critic made it necessary for him some- 
times to make flying visits to several theatres 
in one evening, and I was always glad to accept 

n 7 



ROSE EYTINGE 

his invitation to accompany him on these little 
expeditions. 

In this manner I witnessed with Daly the first 
performance of French comic opera that was 
given in New York. It was "La Grande Du- 
chesse," with Tostee as La Duchesse. As an 
indication of the change in public taste, both 
Mr. Daly and I were so far from pleased with 
the performance that we left early in the second 
act, finding it rather — well! rather! — for our 
taste. Nowadays the performance would be 
rated rather slow. 

With him also I witnessed the performance of 
" Caste,' ' which was produced by W. J. Flor- 
ence. The piece had been secured from Tom 
Robertson by Wallack for production at Wal- 
laces Theatre during the following regular 
season. But Florence brought over a (shall 
we say an annexed?) copy of the piece in a 
summer season, in advance of Wallack, with 
himself, his wife, Owen Marlowe, Davidge, 
Mrs. Chanfrau, and Mrs. Gilbert in the cast. 
I was particularly pleased with Mrs. Gilbert's 
performance of the Marquise, and I said to 
Daly, "When you get your theatre, there is a 



STARRING IN NEWARK 

woman you ought to engage." He replied, 
"I will." How well he kept his word we all 
know. 

Somewhere about this time I was often invited 
to star here and there. Among the offers were 
one from Washington and one from Newark, 
which I accepted. The theatre in Newark 
was under the management of Mr. and Mrs. 
Waller, — delightful people to meet, both per- 
sonally and artistically. Of that week I re- 
tain most pleasant recollections. To both these 
engagements Mr. Daly accompanied me, pro- 
ducing my pieces for me. 

A quaint incident occurred one night in Wash- 
ington during the last act of "Griffith Gaunt." 
In the most intense situation there arose — I 
could scarcely say whence — the most awful 
din. Being in the prisoner's box undergoing 
trial for my life, I was very greatly distressed 
over what seemed to be a wanton effort to dis- 
turb my performance. I spoke off the wing 
several times, imperatively demanding that it 
should be stopped. My demands were quite 

n 9 



ROSE EYTINGE 

unavailing, and my annoyance was greatly 
increased by observing that my remonstrances 
were met by a helpless shrug or shake of the 
head, accompanied by a suppressed smile. 

The moment the curtain fell, intent upon visit- 
ing dire vengeance on the head of the offender, 
I was hurrying from the box when everybody 
in the wings rushed on the stage and no longer 
attempted to suppress laughter. My stage- 
manager said: "No use, Miss Eytinge, even 
you could not stop that noise; that's from 
above!'' 

It was. The roof was covered with tin; some 
plates had become loosened; and when a gust 
came, the wind, which was blowing fiercely, 
would raise these plates and rattle them. My 
stage-manager was quite right. I was obliged 
to submit. It was from above. 



1 20 



CHAPTER XVII 

LONDON: — PARIS — LONGCHAMPS AND THE GRAND PRIX 
— NAPOLEON III AND THE EMPRESS EUGENIE — PRIN- 
CESS METTERNICH PRINCE PIERRE NAPOLEON DR. 

EVANS — NUBAR PASHA — AUBER AND VERDI — AMER- 
ICANS IN PARIS — CORA PEARL 

In 1869 I went abroad for what was, virtually, 
the first time, for my earlier hurried trip across 
and back, which barely occupied three weeks, 
could scarcely be called a visit. 

After an uneventful voyage we arrived in Liv- 
erpool and went direct to London, arriving in 
that city on a Sunday morning, — a drizzling, 
grizzling, grey Sunday morning, and I cannot 
remember a more wretchedly uninteresting, 
empty, miserable day than was that first Sun- 
day in London. 

As a consequence, the next day, bright and 
early, we set out, like true Americans, for Paris, 
then at the zenith of her pride and beauty. 
Napoleon the Third was then Emperor of 
France; and while he may possibly have been 



ROSE EYTINGE 

weak, short-sighted, corrupt, or any of the 
many things he ought not to have been, he cer- 
tainly made of Paris the finest, most fascinat- 
ing city in Europe, both to native and to visitor. 

It is quite likely that both citizen and visitor 
were heavily taxed, but in return for that tax 
they enjoyed the inestimable privilege of living 
in what had the appearance of a perfectly gov- 
erned city. They had the opportunity of liv- 
ing in an atmosphere of lightness and bright- 
ness, where the air was filled with the scent of 
flowers, the sound of music, and the gay laugh- 
ter of light-hearted souls. 

Paris, in those days, was so attractive that 
travellers from the four corners of the earth 
hurried through her gates, glad of the oppor- 
tunity to witness and to share her glory, and 
more than willing in return to pour their wealth 
into her lap. To the visiting onlooker there 
was no evidence that the Parisians ever com- 
plained of the condition. 

Certainly I never heard a French landlady 
complain, as I remember once to have heard 
an English one do. In response to the latter's 
cry of poverty I tried to cheer her up by point- 



AT LONGCHAMPS RACES 

ing out to her the many opportunities which 
she had for accumulating and saving money. 
"Ah, yes, my dear lady," she replied, "but the 
minute I Ve saved a sovereign, along comes a 
man in a black coat and takes it for the Queen." 
Arrived in Paris, we availed ourselves of the 
opportunity to see the race for the Grand 
Prix. And where could be seen a finer sight 
than Longchamps of a Sunday during the 
Third Empire? 

It might not, I submit, have been a refreshing 
spectacle to an old-fashioned, orthodox, New 
England deacon; but to the everyday mere 
human creature it presented a picture likely 
to live a long time in the memory, marked with 
a white stone, — the long stretch of perfectly 
kept white road, gleaming in the sunshine; the 
vast, emerald-green lawn, trim and close-cut; 
the horses in the paddock and on the course, 
with their well-trimmed fetlocks, hoofs oiled 
and polished, and their coats glossy, and carry- 
ing their heads high as if they knew their value. 
The Imperial stand, ablaze with colour, was 
filled with beautiful women in faultless cos- 
tumes, and with equally well-dressed men. 

123 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Everywhere was gaiety, brilliancy. The air 
was redolent of sweetness and bright with 
flowers. 

Here they come! — bowling along over the 
soft, green turf, in a low, dark landau drawn 
by four perfectly matched bays, with outriders 
gorgeous in uniforms which glittered with gold 
and steel, and with postilions jingling with spurs 
and bells, Napoleon the Third and the Empress 
Eugenie, followed by their court in equipages 
of equal beauty and brilliancy. 

The Empress was then, like her realm, in the 
zenith of her beauty. She was tall and grace- 
ful, with a swan-like throat set upon beautiful 
sloping shoulders, her hands were exquisite, 
and her hair rippled in golden splendour around 
her fair face. But her eyes were set too closely 
together, and drooped too low at their corners, 
as also drooped the corners of her mouth, to 
indicate that she had either a generous heart or 
a large understanding. 

Beside her sat the Emperor with his dignified 
bearing and gracious manner, and his carefully 
waxed moustache and "imperial." Louis Na- 
poleon, like many another, had a happy knack 

124 



NAPOLEON III AND EUGENIE 

of looking much more than he was. The 
one feature that seriously detracted from the 
general impressiveness of his appearance were 
his eyes. They were heavy, bulging, fish-like 
eyes. 

With them was their son, young Prince Napo- 
leon, a beautiful child of a fair young mother. 
Fortunately it was not then given to that moth- 
er to be able to look into the future, where 
waited disaster and disgrace, where death 
lurked for her husband, his realm to fall about 
him like a house of cards ; and her boy, stricken 
down in early manhood, dying on an African 
hillside, and herself passing long, lonely years 
of widowhood in exile. 

In the Empress's train there were many beau- 
tiful women, and courtly, distinguished-looking 
men; but as I was neither a chamberlain nor 
a chambermaid at the French Court I did not 
know them by name. To be sure I did recog- 
nise here and there some one whom I had seen 
before. There was the Princess Metternich, 
who was as well known and as well beloved for 
her charities as for her repartee. She was at 
that time considered one of the plainest but 

125 



ROSE EYTINGE 

one of the wittiest women in Paris. To be 
the first is a misfortune, to be the second is 
fatal. 

And there was Prince Pierre Napoleon, cousin 
to the Emperor, and better known by his 
sobriquet of "Plon-Plon," who bore a striking 
likeness to the first Napoleon. With him was 
his gentle, pretty young wife, the Princess 
Clothilde, who had emerged from the safe, 
sunny shelter of the Convent of the Sacred 
Heart to be given in marriage to him, and to 
live for many sad years in the cold shade of his 
neglect. Near the Empress was her faithful 
attendant, Dr. Evans, the American dentist. 
He was a loyal courtier in the train of the Em- 
press of the French in the days of her prosperity 
and power, and still more loyal to the helpless 
Spanish woman in that dark hour when, 
stripped of rank and power, she was fleeing for 
her life ! 

Coming across the lawn from the paddock, 
surrounded by admirers, I recognised a coun- 
trywoman, the beautiful Mrs. Ritchie (now Mrs. 
Adair), a daughter of General Wadsworth, of 
New York. 

126 



NUBAR PASHA AND AUBER 

A stately man, with a complexion resem- 
bling a pomegranate which has hung a trifle too 
long in the sun; with a long, drooping mous- 
tache; with hands and feet remarkable for their 
smallness and perfection of shape; with dark, 
impenetrable eyes, — was Nubar Pasha, chief 
minister to Ismail Pasha, then Khedive of 
Egypt, and grandfather of the present Khedive. 
At the time of which I write, Nubar Pasha, an 
Armenian noble, was considered one of the 
foremost diplomatists in Europe, being ranked 
as second only to Prince GortschakorT . 

Standing in the front rank of the gay crowd 
was a dapper little man, with a faint pair of 
legs encased in lavender trousers and support- 
ing a fragile body that was trimly buttoned in- 
to a perfectly fitting bright blue surtout, his 
breast ornamented with a red rose. The very 
latest thing in hats covered his snow-white 
hair. This was Auber, the composer. He was 
at that time more than eighty years of age, 
but to all appearance as gay and debonair 
and as full of interest in the scene about him 
as if he had been a boy of twenty. 

Not far from Auber stood Verdi, who at that 
127 



ROSE EYTINGE 

time was engaged in finishing his opera, "Aida," 
composed at the order of Ismail Pasha. Ismail 
was building an opera-house at Cairo, which 
"Aida" opened with great eclat, Verdi himself 
conducting. 

Prominent in the paddock, moving about 
among his compatriots, was Leonard Jerome, 
the father of Mrs. Cornwallis West, formerly 
Lady Randolph Churchill, and grandfather 
to Winston Churchill. Leonard Jerome was 
easily one of the most distinguished-looking 
men present. There, too, was Harry Stone, 
a notable American of that day. And there 
was Cora Pearl, then one of the features of 
Paris. She was reclining in a perfectly ap- 
pointed victoria, and was dressed in an ethereal- 
looking costume of pale mauve. Her poodle, 
which sat on the low front seat, solemnly blink- 
ing at her, was dyed the same delicate shade 
of mauve. 

Such were Longchamps, and the Grand Prix 
in the days of the Third Empire. And when 
one remembers Paris as it was then, when one 
remembers the gaiety, the brightness, the 
beauty that were everywhere, and then is 

128 



IMPERIAL PARIS 

brought into close view of the rough face of 
republican France as she is to-day, one is in- 
clined to cry with the Moors of old : 

"Aye de me, Alhaina!" 



129 



CHAPTER XVIII 

ROYALTY AND RANK — FONTAINEBLEAU AND "THE BLACK 
EAGLE " — ACROSS THE ALPS — ITALY — ALEXANDRIA 
— THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER — RAMLEH — CLEOPA- 
TRA — THE BAWAUB — A MASCULINE CHAMBERMAID 

I remained for several months in Paris in that 
summer of 1869, and during that time I saw 
a good bit of the high and mighty-nesses of the 
Court and of the Third Empire. Being con- 
nected, as I was, through my immediate family, 
with an important diplomatic post, I was in 
a peculiarly fortunate position for this purpose. 

But I was never specially impressed by rank; 
perhaps my stage life and experience had rather 
taken the edge off any feeling of awe and rev- 
erence for titles, even the highest. 

I had queened it myself not a few times on the 
stage, and as for duchesses and countesses, 
why, they had been as plenty as blackberries 
in season; and the only difference I have ever 
been able to see between the real thing in titles 
and the mimic is that there is a good bit more 

130 



"THE BLACK EAGLE" 

of rest and ease of mind in the mimic, when 
one can take off the crown jewels and regalia 
and go off behind the scenes and be "your 
simple, honest, independent self." 

Rather than any of the gorgeous functions, 
which it was my lot to attend, there remain in 
my mind, as recollections of that time, pleasant 
memories of short trips made to some one or 
other of the many delightful little places that 
lie within easy distance from and all around 
Paris. Such, for example was an excursion to 
Fontainebleau ; and, being there, of course to 
the inn of the "Black Eagle." This has been 
an inn since early in the sixteen-hundreds, and 
it is to-day — or was a few years ago — the 
same in every feature that it was in that far- 
away time. 

It is a low, two-storied cottage, built around 
three sides of a cool, damp, shady, brick-paved 
courtyard, furnished with quaint rustic tables 
and chairs; and here you can sit and take your 
meal, and look across to the Forest of Fon- 
tainebleau and wish that the stately old trees 
that are nodding and whispering to each other 
would tell some of the secrets of the old days 

131 



ROSE EYTINGE 

of royal splendour that they have witnessed. 
And if you propose to spend the night at the 
little inn, you will be shown with great cere- 
mony up a crooked, narrow, winding stairway 
into a bedroom about twelve feet square, with 
a much-broken brick floor, and, by way of 
luxury, a bit of carpet about as large as a 
good-sized pocket-handkerchief spread at the 
side of the bed; but always with the inevitable 
mirror over the chimney-piece, and with the 
equally inevitable pair of vases and clock upon 
it, and the picture of the Blessed Virgin hang- 
ing over the head of the bed. 

And when you are left alone in possession of 
this room, and look about you, and become 
aware of the shadows that lurk in the corners 
and dart out at you as your solitary candle 
flares and flickers, you find your envy of those 
folk who lived in the "good old times' ' giving 
way to a feeling of thankfulness that you are 
here in this prosaic, conventional twentieth cen- 
tury, where you can command the ugly but 
comforting steam-radiator and the common- 
place gas-meter. 

After a stay of some months in Paris, I started 
132 



CROSSING THE ALPS 

for Italy via Mont Cenis. The building of the 
celebrated tunnel had just been decided upon, 
but I was able to avail myself of the journey 
over the mountains instead of through them, 
as travellers are now obliged to do. The ex- 
perience was replete with interest and pleasure, 
an incident which occurred during the trip 
adding greatly to both. 

About midway, having reached the topmost 
peak of Mont Cenis, we were met by an obstacle, 
the recent heavy rains having caused a wash- 
out on the road, and we were obliged to leave 
the coaches and to walk a mile or two down 
the mountain side. It was rather a curious 
sensation to find one's self trudging along the 
identical road over which Hannibal led his 
army, and Napoleon marched his forces on his 
raid against his Italian neighbours. 

Through Turin, Ancona, Verona, and many 
other old Italian towns around which is en- 
twined so much historic lore and romance, we 
went to Venice, and thence by steamer to Alex- 
andria. 

To offer any detailed description of the port of 
133 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Alexandria, which is now as well known to 
travellers as is New York's beautiful harbour 
or the Golden Gate, would be useless, and 
the same may be said of the city itself, which 
is one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the 
world. 

As its heterogeneous mass of humanity is 
composed of Christians, Copts, Jews, Moham- 
medans, Greeks, Armenians, Turks, Arabs, 
Albanians, Maltese, Spaniards, French, Italians, 
Germans, Scandinavians, Britons, Americans, 
and any and every other sort of folk, known 
or unknown, and all wear, as if by concerted 
arrangement, their respective national cos- 
tumes, the streets of the town present a most 
kaleidoscopic effect. And as the representa- 
tives of each and every one of these nationali- 
ties, by the law of attraction, seek their own 
countrymen, the place is divided and sub- 
divided into small colonies, with the result that 
it resembles a map, with its little patches of 
colour placed here and there. 

But of all the many sorts and conditions of 
men who trot over this globe, for a good travel- 
ler commend me to my compatriots. The 

'34 



THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER 

American tourist is, to my mind, the most all- 
around sensible and adaptable traveller. He 
goes a long way, and usually at great cost, to 
see a foreign country. Finding himself in that 
faraway land, he at once and earnestly sets 
about seeing it in the most practical fashion. 
He throws himself into every new situation 
that presents itself with a good-humoured 
gusto, and with a determination to get all the 
enjoyment possible out of it. As a natural con- 
sequence of this highly commendable disposi- 
tion, in Egypt and throughout the East the 
American is to be found in the coolest, lightest, 
and most unbecoming costume, including, of 
course, an enormous puggaree wound around 
his hat, the white ends dangling down behind 
like the sash of "a little maid at school." 

And he rides, when he would much rather 
walk, on the little native donkey, which he could 
much more easily and comfortably carry. He 
makes miscellaneous and indiscriminate pur- 
chases in the "Mouski," and of native merchants 
generally, at fabulous prices, buying entirely use- 
less articles, manufactured with special refer- 
ence to him, and such as him, in New England. 

'35 



ROSE EYTINGE 

He sits for hours in front of a dingy little cafe, 
listening to and taking great seeming interest 
in the ceaseless chatter which goes on around 
him, made up of a polyglot of bad Italian and 
worse French, Turkish, Arabic, and what not 
else, while he drinks innumerable cups of Turk- 
ish coffee. This is black, bitter, and gritty. 
He does not like it at all, and he would on no 
account touch it if he were at home. In brief, 
he makes himself thoroughly uncomfortable 
and enjoys himself immensely. 

Finding Alexandria hot, uninviting, and in- 
fected by all the known plagues of Egypt and 
a few more, I went in a few days after my 
arrival to Ramleh. This is a semi-European 
colony of villas on the shores of the Mediter- 
ranean, about four miles from Alexandria. On 
the spot now called Ramleh once stood the 
ancient city of Alexandria, in the days of its 
splendour and glory. I was so fortunate as 
to secure for occupancy a house built upon 
a famous foundation. Between it and the 
sapphire sea, whose waves lapped the shore a 
few paces away, there lay, buried in the sand, 

.36 



AMERICAN HOME IN EGYPT 

the ruins of Cleopatra's palace, and at a short 
distance was the spot where Octavius Caesar 
set up his camp when, after defeating Marc 
Antony, he came as the conqueror of Egypt and 
of Egypt's queen. But that august sovereign, 
true to the dictates of the nature that had given 
her the power to rule men, — and, through men, 
nations, — acknowledged only death as her 
victor. 

Upon this historic spot I set up my establish- 
ment, raised the American flag, and proceeded 
to the task of conducting in Egypt an American 
home on strictly American principles. I do 
not think that that most famous of all blunder- 
ers, Handy Andy, ever succeeded in making 
more of them than I did in the ordering of my 
domestic affairs while I was learning my way 
about. 

For an example : It is the custom of the coun- 
try for all good houses to employ a hall porter, 
whose designation in the national vernacular, 
is bawaub. His is the highest and most hon- 
ourable position — after the janissary — of the 
staff of servants, and it is usual to select for it a 
person of ancient and honourable lineage. It 

'37 



ROSE EYTINGE 

seems that the one who had been chosen for 
this post in my house filled the requirements 
thoroughly, being able to trace back his family 
three, four, or five thousand years, and, as 
additional recommendation, he enjoyed the 
honour of never having been known to have 
done an honest day's work. 

Clad in a long garment of spotless white, the 
duty of this functionary is to sit cross-legged, 
or, when he believed himself to be unobserved, 
to lie full length, on a sort of camp bedstead, 
composed of reeds, at the entrance of the house, 
which is usually a courtyard of more or less 
magnitude. Here he receives the cards of 
visitors and passes them on to some one of the 
indoor servants. And so they are passed from 
hand to hand, and if the mistress of the house 
happens to have been born under a lucky star, 
in an hour or two after they have been started 
on this circuitous trip she may receive the 
"pasteboards." 

Now I, being entirely ignorant of this custom 
and of the character of the duties of a bawaub y 
saw only a long, lean, elderly person, clad in 
what appeared to me a more seemly garment 

138 



A MASCULINE CHAMBERMAID 

than that worn by the other servants, and I 
concluded that she was, or ought to be, the 
chambermaid, and set her to work as such. 
The more strenuously the old one seemed to 
object, the more urgently I insisted; and in the 
performance of these tasks the antique bronze 
was often admitted to ceremonies which are 
usually sacred to feminine view. 

As these tasks were most unwillingly gone 
about, and as their performance was usually ac- 
companied by many low mutterings suggestive of 
the Southern darkey, who is given to the dual 
habit of securing the last word and of mutter- 
ing "cuss words," I christened the old servant 
"Cussie-cussie." 

It was not until the chief janissary begged for 
an audience, and with many apologies and 
salaams imparted to me the bawaub's ancient 
lineage, sex, and position, that I learned what 
an injustice I had been committing. 

With profuse apologies I promptly restored 
my bawaub to the duties and siestas of his time- 
honoured place, but there was no denying the 
fact that he had been thoroughly indoctrin- 
ated in the duties of a first-class chambermaid. 
139 



CHAPTER XIX 

LOVE, THE GREAT LEVELLER — THE SERVANT PROBLEM 
IN EGYPT — HOW THE GROCER IMPORTED HIS BRIDE — 
WOMEN IN THE EAST — THE HAREMS — AN ORIENTAL 
LADY'S CALL UPON AN AMERICAN WOMAN — THE MAN 
IN THE CASE — HUMAN NATURE 

For a while after my arrival in Alexandria, be- 
fore going to Ramleh, I stopped at a hotel, the 
New Callot, the proprietor being an Italian 
named Pantalini. While there an incident oc- 
curred which proves that love levels all lan- 
guages as well as all ranks. 

It seems that Signor Pantalini had assimilated 
some of the domestic ideas of the unspeakable 
Turk, and had reduced them to practice in his 
daily life and in his own hotel. He had caused 
to be fitted up in the most sumptuous fashion 
a suite of rooms on the top floor, and there he 
had installed his inamorata. 

The adjoining suite had been assigned to a 
young American "dude," who was doing Europe 
and the East after the most approved fashion 
140 



AN AMERICAN DUDE 

of dudes. These two suites had no doors of 
communication, but the windows of each opened 
upon the same balcony, an airy, mysterious- 
looking little try sting-place. But what of that ? 
The young American could speak no Italian, 
and Signor Pantalini's fair one could utter her 
thoughts and wishes only in the sibilant syllables 
of her own sunny Italy. 

Notwithstanding these circumstances, which 
would seem to have been enough to place an 
insurmountable obstacle to any hope of even 
acquaintance between these neighbours, in just 
a fortnight from the time when the young Yan- 
kee spark had been installed in that eyrie he 
levanted with Signor Pantalini's cava sposa! 

Once I found myself installed in my own 
house, I had great difficulty in reconciling my- 
self to the absence of women servants. But in 
Egypt and throughout the Orient the order of 
service is conducted on distinctly contrary prin- 
ciples to anything to which we of this Western 
hemisphere are accustomed. 

Men perform all the domestic and indoor ser- 
vice, while it is no unusual thing to see women 

i 4 i 



ROSE EYTINGE 

toiling in the fields, doing work upon buildings 
in course of erection, and generally accom- 
plishing those tasks which we are accustomed 
to see performed by men. In my efforts to 
find some women for my household I made 
inquiries of the various trades-people with 
whom I dealt, and my grocer, a good-looking 
young Englishman, told me he knew of a young 
English woman who he thought would be will- 
ing to come out if her expenses were paid. As 
to her qualification, he could recommend her 
most highly. Negotiations were at once con- 
cluded. I advanced the sum of twelve pounds, 
and as fast as steam could fetch her the young 
woman came out. I had every reason to be- 
lieve that the grocer's recommendation was 
entirely sincere, for within a week of the young 
woman's arrival she and her sponsor were 
married ! 

A very brief residence in the Orient convinced 
me that the women of the East not only do not 
need, nor do they wish for, the sympathy of 
their sisters of the West, but they profoundly 
pity us. Indeed they go further: they despise 
us! And this is because they agree with the 

142 



VISITING THE HAREMS 

men that we are, one and all, objects of ex- 
treme indifference to our husbands, lovers, or 
brothers. If we were not, these our husbands, 
lovers, and brothers would not allow us to 
wander about the world with uncovered faces, 
thus making it possible for other men to look 
upon us. 

A somewhat embarrassing instance of this 
peculiar point of view occurred to me. Through 
my relations with the diplomatic circle I enjoyed 
many privileges not usually accorded to Chris- 
tians in a Moslem country. One of these was 
to visit many harems, particularly those of 
the Viceroy and of families high in position 
about his Court. There was one lady, the wife 
of an official of high rank in the viceregal ser- 
vice, whom I had met several times, and be- 
tween whom and myself there had come to be 
a sort of friendship which had grown and flour- 
ished with the help of an interpretess and with 
the further aid of such fragments of Arabic as 
I had managed to pick up. 

This lady had several times expressed a great 
desire to visit me in my home, to see for herself 
how we Christians lived our everyday lives. I 

M3 



ROSE EYTINGE 

frankly urged her to do so. But if I fancied 
that this interchange of wishes was sufficient, 
I soon found my mistake. All sorts of per- 
missions had to be obtained from all sorts of 
persons, official and unofficial. One by one 
these obstacles disappeared before a vigorous 
and more or less continuous waving of the 
American flag. 

At last all was arranged. It was left for me 
only to name a day and hour for the visit, with 
a solemn promise on my part that on that day 
I must banish every man who belonged to my 
establishment. I must be sure that from the 
moment the dark-eyed daughter of the sun 
crossed my threshold that threshold must be so 
well guarded that no masculine eye should have 
the opportunity to gaze upon those charms 
that were sacred to her lord. 

When the cavalcade bringing me my visitor 
arrived, it consisted, first, of the Laiee, then of 
two eunuchs, each coal-black and enormously 
fat, on horseback, then the carriage, with an- 
other eunuch, as fat and as black, on the box 
with the driver, the carriage being jealously 
closed on all sides. Then, on each side of the 

144 



DUTIES OF EUNUCHS 

carriage, two more eunuchs, with great curved 
swords attached to their sides with broad red 
sashes. 

It stopped, then, with a great jingling of 
spurs and swords, and a great hubbub of 
voices of every key, the two huge, black 
masses of humanity heading the procession 
were dragged, and pulled, and helped, to roll 
to the ground. Once there, they took their 
positions on either side of the carriage. The 
same ceremony having been gone through with 
the other two eunuchs, they also ranged them- 
selves at the side of the first two. When the 
carriage door was opened I saw, partly lifted, 
partly rolled, what might have been Jack Fal- 
stafj himself new-risen from the buck-basket. 
A closer inspection revealed only a huge, ani- 
mated grey bundle, which rapidly disappeared 
into the house. 

At the same moment my janissary opened the 
door of the drawing-room, advanced a short 
distance into the room on tip-toe, and in low, 
mysterious, whispered tones told me she was 
coming; then, carrying his shoes in one hand 
and impressing silence with the other, he swiftly 

"45 



ROSE EYTINGE 

and silently withdrew. I began to feel as if I 
were playing a walking-lady in a farce and did 
not know my lines. Again the door opened 
and the grey bundle entered. Now I began 
to feel in some slight degree mistress of the situ- 
ation, and, being more at ease myself, I deter- 
mined that I would do all in my power to put 
my visitor in the same condition. I summoned 
all my small stock of Arabic ; I made her under- 
stand that we were quite alone and safe from 
all fear of interruption; that she must take off 
her "things," and we would have a real old- 
fashioned Yankee visit. 

I helped to unroll her out from her grey silk 
sheet, only to find her encased in a nondescript 
garment of the same material, somewhat re- 
sembling an old-fashioned pelisse — only more 
so. 

I decided that this also should come off, feel- 
ing quite sure that the sad-coloured sack was 
not the sort of thing which she usually wore; 
and, after removing this and her yashmak, 
there stood before me a very pretty woman, 
lightly dressed in a motley attire of bright- 
coloured, ill-made, and worse-fitting garments 

146 



A DELIGHTFUL SPMPOSIUM 

in which there was no redeeming feature, 
there being neither grace, beauty, nor comfort 
to recommend them. Her ears, neck, breast, 
arms, and fingers were loaded with heavy, bar- 
baric-looking jewellery; her little pudgy fingers 
were purple and pressed out of shape with 
rings almost to their ends ; and on her head was 
perched a sort of miniature turban, made out 
of a wisp of white tarletan, fastened with an 
aigrette which was set with diamonds of almost 
priceless value. 

And then we set out to talk, — she to ask and 
I to answer questions; and what we could not 
say with our tongues we said with our eyes, our 
hands, our shoulders. 

I showed her some books and pictures, and, 
what interested her much more, my gowns and 
bonnets and frippery. I was not long from 
Paris, and the time flew. A couple of hours 
seemed like so many minutes. Then we had 
luncheon, and no two youngsters at school, dis- 
cussing a box of goodies from home, ever 
enjoyed a treat more or extracted more fun 
from it, than we got out of that luncheon. 

We were recalled from our symposium by a 

■47 



ROSE EYTINGE 

knock at the door. Thinking it was some 
addition to our meal, I said, "Come in!" The 
door opened, and there strode into the room — 
a man ! — a real, live, sure-enough man ! And 
no common sort of man either,— a true son of 
Anak, six-foot-three, with a figure to match 
his height, a bearing that set off both height 
and figure, and a pair of bright blue eyes that 
set one's own a-dancing just to look into them. 
In he strode with the confident air of one who 
felt sure of his welcome. 

At the first glimpse of this spectacle my little 
guest, with a terrified shriek, fled to the farthest 
end of the room and concealed as much as was 
possible of herself in the folds of the window 
curtains. I am not, however, certain that she 
covered her eyes. 

I flew to my — for the nonce — unwelcome 
guest, gave him the "right-about," and, to his 
great surprise, led him from the room. Once 
on the outside, and the door securely closed, 
I explained the situation to him. He increased 
my embarrassment by being greatly amused and 
by insisting upon returning and making his 
apologies to the lady. 

148 



AN UNWELCOME VISITOR 

The explanation of the presence of my un- 
expected guest was very simple. He was an 
American officer in the sendee of the Viceroy, 
was upon terms of so great intimacy with my 
household as to feel himself free to dispense 
with the ceremony of sending in his card, and 
in coming directly to my drawing-room he was 
only following his usual custom. The presence 
of the carriage and suite of my visitor, waiting 
in the courtyard, was an occurrence too com- 
mon to attract his attention, and the stately 
bawaub, whose duty it was to have warned him, 
was, as usual, fast asleep. 

I returned to my trembling guest and set about 
soothing her nerves and calming her fears, and 
I found this a much easier task than I had dared 
to hope. Indeed I soon found that she took 
quite a Christian view of the situation. It was 
not so much the presence of the man that 
alarmed her, as it was the fear of his presence 
being found out, thus proving that wherever 
you place us, Moslem or Mohammedan, Turk 
or Jew or Christian, there is a great deal of 
human nature about us, after all. 



149 



CHAPTER XX 

AMERICAN PATRIOTISM — WOMAN'S STATUS IN AMERICA 
AND THE EAST CONTRASTED — EUNUCHS — EUROPEAN 
WIVES OF MOHAMMEDAN MAGNATES 

I know of nothing that is so surely calculated 
to develop the patriotism of an American wom- 
an as a sojourn in a foreign country. This 
is especially the case if that sojourn be in what 
we are pleased to term " heathen" territory. 
At one time and another I have lived much 
abroad — in England, in various Continental 
cities, and in the Orient; and the effect of each 
of those experiences has been to send me home 
with my patriotism and pride of country in- 
creased and intensified. 

In no other country is woman so respected, so 
sheltered and protected, as in America. In no 
other country are men so chivalrous, so gallant 
to women, so careful and considerate of them, 
as in America. And, at the risk of being dis- 
cursive, I would like to say that I think we have 
here two classes of men who stand pre-eminent 

150 



WOMEN OF THE EAST 

in their chivalrous and protective attitude to- 
ward women, — railroad-men and firemen. 

The Orient, like any heathen land, is an es- 
pecially unpleasant place of sojourn for a Chris- 
tian woman. The Mohammedan, by reason 
of his faith, despises women. And his nature, 
his habits, his education and everything that 
goes to make up his life, develops and fosters 
this feeling of contempt for women. 

A Christian woman, if she once realised, in 
ever so small a degree, the Mohammedan charac- 
ter and nature, would indignantly repel and re- 
pudiate as an insult the sleek, smiling, salacious 
compliments so freely offered her by an Oriental. 

Life in the Orient is most irksome to an 
American woman, despite its many charms of cli- 
mate, colour, beauty and mystery. An Amer- 
ican woman is born and reared in freedom. 
She is used to go and come as she pleases, her 
own judgment and her own sense of the pro- 
prieties being her only censors; and it is very 
irritating to her to be obliged to live in a land 
where she must not, under any circumstances, 
walk out. When she appears upon the street 
it must be in a carriage. 

*5< 



ROSE EYTINGE 

If she be a person of social standing, she must 
be attended. If she is the mistress of a house- 
hold, she cannot go to market in the good old- 
fashioned way to provide for her family; but 
she must retain a man-servant who is at once 
major-domo and steward. He must receive 
the money for the marketing, and she must take 
what he chooses to return to her, always allow- 
ing a liberal sum for his stealings. These are 
only a few of the restraints which meet an 
American or European woman at every step. 

But this very absence of all freedom, and the 
control and espionage that constantly surround 
the Oriental woman, are the source of her 
highest pride. Such a woman of rank or social 
position passes her life entirely among the wom- 
en and children of her own household. She 
has no social world beyond the precincts of her 
own hareem (or harem, as it is usually spelled 
in English) ; she has no social duties or obliga- 
tions, no domestic occupations. Life, with her, 
is a continual condition of loll. 

The portion of the house of an Oriental which 
is dedicated to the use of the women and children 
comprising his family is entirely separated from 

152 



POWER OF THE EUNUCHS 

the part of the house inhabited by the master, 
or pasha. And the power of admission to the 
women's quarters, the harem, is vested only in 
the pasha or the head eunuch. The door is 
always jealously locked and guarded, and ad- 
mission to or egress from the harem can be 
obtained only by the favour of the eunuch. 

This power makes the eunuch king of the 
house. The Oriental women, far from resent- 
ing this state of things, are proud of the 
isolation and seclusion in which they pass 
their lives, and interpret their imprisonment 
as proof of the admiration and love which 
their husbands entertain for them. 

Their explanation of the freedom which Chris- 
tian women enjoy is that Christian husbands 
are indifferent to their wives, and it is because 
of that indifference that the poor, unloved 
creatures may wander where they will with 
uncovered faces, permitting all men to look 
upon them. When I was in Alexandria and 
Cairo it was my fortune to have upon my visit- 
ing-list quite a number of harems, including 
those of the Viceroy. 

But while in those harems there was much 

! 53 



ROSE EYTINGE 

splendour and magnificence, there was an utter 
absence of all those features that go to fill the 
Anglo-Saxon idea of home. There were beau- 
tiful gardens, brilliant and odorous with rare 
tropical flowers; music, barbaric if you will, but 
dreamy and fascinating; soft, luxurious divans; 
rare fruits and delicious confections, sweets and 
sherbets, black coffee and cigarettes. 

But of books, or pictures, or statuary, or of 
anything that appealed to the intellect or the 
higher nature, there was not a trace. Nor was 
there a sign of the sacred privacy of the home. 

While I was in Egypt there came under my 
notice one or two instances wherein European 
women, dazzled by the prospect of wealth and 
luxury, became the wives of Mohammedan 
magnates. Nothing more tragic, though at the 
same time more grotesque, than were the lives 
they led, can well be imagined. 

As I write I recall the case of a bonnie English 
girl, about twenty years old, who at the per- 
sistent solicitation of an ambitious and im- 
pecunious widowed mother married a rich old 
copper-coloured pasha of about sixty. They 
had one child, a miserable, whining, weazen- 

'54 



A MOHAMMEDAN'S WIFE 

faced, copper-coloured little boy. The mother 
never manifested the slightest interest in this 
child. Indeed she never manifested any in- 
terest in anything. The poor girl was as very 
a slave as any to be found in the harem. She 
would gladly have given all her laces and cash- 
meres and jewels for a pretty, simple, English 
print gown ; as gladly have exchanged her beau- 
tiful victoria and her tine horses, with which 
every afternoon she used to drive, — husband 
or mother beside her, — for a brief scamper 
across English fields. 

One day she escaped from her splendid 
prison. She just quietly lay down and died, — 
as I verily believe, from sheer lack of a wish 
to live. 



*55 



CHAPTER XXI 

EGYPTIAN DANCING-GIRLS — THE VICEROY'S MOTHER — 
ORIENTAL SPLENDOUR — A NOBLEMAN WITH AN HALLU- 
CINATION 

One of the most interesting if not one of the 
most agreeable experiences that ever came in 
my way was when I witnessed an exhibition of 
Egyptian dancing-girls. 

This delectable form of entertainment is one 
not usually patronised by women, and was 
vouchsafed to me as a special mark of favour 
by the mother of the Viceroy, who was un- 
doubtedly the reigning feminine power at the 
Egyptian Court. Although the Viceroy had 
at this time four wives, all legitimate according 
to Mohammedan laws, and a countless train 
of — shall we say "ladies of his household ?" — 
his mother was the real power, and she it was 
whom his Excellency consulted on all impor- 
tant questions of foreign or domestic policy. 
Her tact and authority kept up a semblance of 
peace in that vast household, for, while the 

156 



EGYPTIAN DANCING-GIRLS 

eunuchs ruled the wives, she ruled the eunuchs. 
She it was who prepared all the food of which 
her son partook, always accompanying him on 
his journeys for this purpose. With this old 
brown lady, who must have been between 
seventy and eighty years of age, I had found 
special favour. 

At the time of which I speak there were a num- 
ber of American women tourists in Cairo; and 
I was besieged by one and all to obtain for them 
some glimpses of harem life, — one merry party 
of Western girls insisting that they should see 
an exhibition of dancing-girls. The request 
made, time had to be taken for consideration, 
and after acquiescence had been obtained a 
day had to be set when the dancing-girls could 
be obtained, for these damsels are quite as 
expensive in their way and as exacting and 
capricious as are other prime donne. 

The powers decided that the affair should 
come off at the Gezira Palace, the most spacious 
and magnificent of all the Viceroy's twenty-six 
domiciles. A general invitation was issued to 
the wives of the foreign consuls. They were all 
present except the Duchesse de Montholon, 

»57 



ROSE EYTINGE 

wife of the French consul-general, who, as al- 
ways when a public function occurred, was too 
ill to be present, though it was an open secret 
that she, being a Spanish grandee and a rigid 
Catholic, never presented herself at any of the 
Egyptian Court functions. 

At the last moment a difficulty arose in our 
party, several of the ladies being in deep mourn- 
ing, and it was impossible that they should 
present themselves in black. To do so was to 
insult the Court. 

In this dilemma all sorts of expedients were 
resorted to. Of course it would have been easy 
enough for them to meet the difficulty if they 
had wished to obtain fresh toilettes for the occa- 
sion; but this would have entailed heavy ex 
pense, and as they were persons of moderate 
means, and the costumes would have been 
useless to them afterward, they wished to evade 
the ruling. But as the difficulties grew, their 
anxiety to attend the function increased in 
corresponding degree. 

At last an expedient was hit upon. The ladies 
produced from their trunks various shawls, 
large and small, and pieces of silk from Da- 

158 



ORIENTAL SPLENDOUR 

mascus, and what not else., and with a light and 
inexpensive skirt here, a show}- little home-made 
bonnet there, and a graceful if somewhat bizarre 
disposition of these various fabrics, the party 
presented a highly picturesque and brilliant 
appearance. The most gorgeous effect was 
made by the chaperon. Among her possessions 
was a large crepe shawl, with a bright, light-blue 
ground, covered at intervals with all sorts of 
birds, and beasts and flowers of gorgeous 
colours. When this shawl was stretched across 
her ample shoulders, the spectacle was both 
instructive and inspiring. 

At last we arrived at the ponderous gate of the 
Gezira Palace, whose frowning front offered no 
promise of the scene of beaut}* that was to burst 
upon us on entering its portals. When the 
janissary of the American Consulate — gor- 
geous in fine attire and earning his silver tip- 
staff of office with great gravity and dignity — 
descended from his official post, and opened 
the box of the Consular carriage, and presented 
the viceregal invitation, the Egyptian guards pre- 
sented arms, the trumpets sounded, the drums 
beat, the gates flew open, and we entered. 

■59 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Beauty, beauty, beauty everywhere! A be- 
wildering blaze of light and colour; gleaming 
white and rose-coloured marble and alabaster; 
the air filled with the perfume of flowers, the 
song of birds, the cool tinkle of water from a 
fountain ! 

After wandering through a maze of this beau- 
ty, sometimes a courtyard, sometimes a garden, 
sometimes a lofty hall, we were ushered into 
the reception-hall. Enthroned on a dais at one 
end of this magnificent apartment 'sat my old 
brown friend, the Viceroy's mother; grouped 
about her, but not upon the dais, were the 
Viceroy's various wives and favourites and the 
ladies of the households of his various ministers 
and officers of the Court. 

Among the foreign ladies present, conspicuous 
always for her beauty, was the then Countess 
of Dudley, now the dowager. This beautiful 
woman was spending some time in Egypt with 
her husband, who was suffering from one of 
his periodical attacks of hallucination, his 
especial imagination at that time being that he 
was a mouse. As the noble gentleman was 
about sixty years old and carried weight for age, 

1 60 



THE COUNTESS OF DUDLEY 

he was somewhat unwieldy in his movements, 
and his attempts to retire under chairs or up 
chimneys to escape from imaginary marauding 
cats was somewhat embarrassing in general 
society. 

His fair young Countess was less than half his 
age. It was amusing to see the effect upon the 
untutored savage when her ladyship told the 
viceregal mother, through an interpreter, that 
she had left several children at home, the young- 
est of whom was an infant of a few months. 
Arabian women are most devoted mothers. 

At last the interminable ceremony of sweets, 
sherbets, and coffee was at an end, and we 
arrived at the cigarette period. Then the 
dancing-girls were introduced. At first there 
was a dreamy fascination about the exhibition, 
— the dim light, the soft, smothered tinkle- 
tinkle and strum-strum of the music, the beauty 
of the girls, shining with golden ornaments and 
graceful and agile as young fawns. But as the 
music increased in volume and measure, as the 
movements of the dancers kept time to this 
change, and as the longer they dance the more 
we saw of them, one's interest changed to 

161 



ROSE EYTINGE 

languor, the languor to something very like 
disgust, and when they fell, semi-nude, panting, 
shapeless heaps upon their rugs, their retire- 
ment was accepted with a general sigh of relief. 



162 



CHAPTER XXII 

TRAGEDIES OF THE HAREMS — SULYMAN PASHA — FROM A 
FRENCH CLOISTER TO AN EGYPTIAN PRISON — CHERIF 
PASHA AND HIS UNHAPPY WIFE 

To live in the Orient, basking in perpetual sun- 
shine, breathing the odours of perennial flowers, 
luxuriating on delicious fruits, being waited 
upon by willing slaves who feed the mind with 
subtle flatteries and the palate with cloying 
sweets, is not always to find life a playground. 

The life in the harems sometimes discloses 
tragedies soul-sickening in their secret horror 
and in the utter inability of any power to avenge 
them. An incident that recurs to me will illus- 
trate what I mean. 

The beginning of this tragedy dates back to the 
time of Mehemet Ali, the founder of the present 
Egyptian dynasty, if Egypt can now be said to 
have a dynasty. 

When this man, by a successful rebellion, seized 
the reins of government and proclaimed himself 
sovereign, he had in his confidential service a 

163 



ROSE EYTINGE 

soldier who had served with distinction in the 
French army, in which at the period when he 
left that service he held the rank of colonel. 
Originally of the people, he had attained this 
position through the possession of unusual 
qualities. He was brave in action, ready in expe- 
dients, unscrupulous in carrying them out, and 
possessed of an insatiable cupidity. 

These characteristics led to his committing 
some act which brought disgrace upon himself, 
and sooner than await the consequences, which 
seemed inevitable, he deserted and sought ser- 
vice in Egypt, where he soon rendered himself 
indispensable to Mehemet Ali, who, as soon as 
he found himself Egypt's ruler, loaded the 
apostate Frenchman, — who made no difficulty 
about declaring himself a good Mohammedan, 
— with wealth and honours. He bestowed 
upon him the title of Sulyman Pasha, and gave 
'him as his first wife, or queen of his harem, an 
Armenian princess of great wealth and won- 
drous beauty. 

Although Sulyman availed himself of his Mo- 
hammedan privileges to the fullest extent, and 
kept a flourishing domestic establishment, he 

164 



A MOHAMMEDAN PRINCESS 

never deposed this princess from her first place 
in either his regard or her position. She bore 
him a daughter, and for this daughter he ex- 
hibited the fondest and deepest paternal love; 
and he revolted from the thought of having her 
grow up in the ignorant, aimless, idle life of the 
harem. While she was little more than a baby 
he sent her to a convent in France to be edu- 
cated, and to grow up in the Catholic faith. 
Her Mohammedan parentage was carefully 
concealed, not only from her schoolmates, but 
also from the sisterhood and from herself, — 
only the Mother Superior being cognizant of 
the fact. It was only known that she was of 
high rank and great wealth. 

She had been several years in the convent be- 
fore she made a visit to her native place, and 
even then she was too young to realize the differ- 
ence in the mode of life; and so she grew to 
womanhood virtually ignorant of the difference 
between herself and the girls who were her com- 
panions and friends, but from whom, in the 
near future, she was to be so completely and 
cruelly separated. 

When she was in the first years of her bud- 
165 



ROSE EYTINGE 

ding womanhood and fresh young beauty, she 
made one of her customary visits to her father, 
her mother having been dead several years; and 
during this visit her father, after a sudden and 
brief illness, died. 

An examination of his affairs took place, and 
the story of her great wealth was confirmed; 
it was found that while she was still an infant 
her father had settled an immense fortune upon 
her, but he had made no provision looking 
toward her release from the condition of a 
Turkish subject. 

The Viceroy was appointed her guardian, and 
she was surrounded with every luxury that her 
great wealth entitled her to. But her Christian 
attendants were all sent back to France, her 
household was conducted upon a strictly Turk- 
ish basis, and she herself was not permitted to 
leave the country. In a very short time the 
Viceroy gave her in marriage to Cherif Pasha, 
who was at least double her age, a man of wealth 
and importance and a thorough Moslem. 

She, a free woman, made free by that greatest 
of all enfranchisements, a cultivated mind, was 
thus condemned to slavery. As the wife of a 

1 66 



A TRAGIC STORY 

Turk she must live in her husband's harem 
along with the other women of his household, 
where she must be in the keeping of an official 
who by right of his office carried the key to 
those apartments, and only at his pleasure and 
in his custody could she leave them. 

I had heard the tragic story of this woman 
some time before I made her acquaintance, 
though she might often have been present on 
any of the occasions when I visited the royal 
harem, and I not have been aware of her pres- 
ence, as our Western custom of introduction and 
general intercourse did not prevail there. 

But on one of these visits I met a woman who 
knew Madame Cherif by sight, and at my re- 
quest she pointed her out to me. As she sat 
gorgeously dressed and ablaze with gems she 
was a most pathetic figure. Though she had 
passed her first youth she was still a striking and 
noble figure and bore traces of great beauty. 
Her great, dark eyes were surrounded by circles 
almost as dark as themselves, and she had an 
eager, starved glance. Her mouth was closely 
drawn in, and her lips were pressed together 
as though she habitually kept back the words 

167 



ROSE EYTINGE 

that were striving for utterance. I was most 
painfully impressed by her hands, they were so 
pitifully eloquent. Such tiny hands they were, 
and, as they lay so white and helpless-looking 
on her gorgeous robe, they had a trick of flutter- 
ing, it seemed to me, like some lost bird whose 
wings had been sorely wounded. 

There were tears in the quivering of those 
small fingers; they, and her eyes, and her mouth 
revealed a tragedy. I there and then made up 
my mind that if a woman who was herself 
happy in the privilege of having been born in 
a free land could brighten, if even in ever so 
slight a way, the dark fate of that unhappy 
woman, it should be done. 

As soon as I could do so without attracting 
attention, I asked to be presented to Madame 
Cherif . After a few ceremonious words of greet- 
ing on either side, I said to her in my most dis- 
tant manner, but with a slight shade of meaning 
in my voice, that it would give me great pleas- 
ure to call upon her. With a startled glance, 
first at me and then about her, she replied with 
one word, "Impossible !" 

But I was determined that I would not be so 
1 68 



AN UNHAPPY WIFE 

easily discouraged. I asked, "Is that your 
wish?" In reply, with another startled glance, 
she said, "It is my fear." To this I replied, 
"Leave it to me," and I moved away. 

I knew that in trying to offer any hope to this 
poor creature I was setting for myself no easy 
task, but I rested my hopes on the fact that I 
knew Cherif Pasha quite well. By this time I 
had learned that the men of the Orient greatly 
enjoyed meeting the women of the Western 
world, but, while they enjoyed their intelligent 
talk and observed with a sort of puzzled ad- 
miration the perfect ease and freedom with 
which such women expressed their views, they 
were all very careful that none of that intelli- 
gence or freedom of opinion should find its way 
to the women of their own country or faith. 

A little careful inquiry helped me to learn that 
the Cherif s harem was just then at his palace 
a little way out of Cairo, on the banks of the 
Mahmoudieh Canal, and I knew that the gar- 
dens of this palace were famous for the beauty 
and rarity of their flowers. 

I developed a great interest in horticulture, 
and managed to have it given out that I en- 

169 



ROSE EYTINGE 

joyed nothing so much as a stroll among the 
flowers. 

A great man once told me that opportunities 
never occur, — they are made. And it was not 
long before I made an opportunity to mention 
to Cherif Pasha my love for flowers, and that I 
had heard of the great beauty of his garden. 
What so natural as that he should beg me to 
visit them, and that I should accept his invita- 
tion? 

But I reminded his Excellency that the cus- 
toms of my country made it incumbent that 
Madame Cherif Pasha should receive me, and 
after a little half-bantering, half-serious discus- 
sion the Pasha smilingly yielded to what he 
considered was an absurd exhibition of quite 
unnecessary etiquette. 

An early day was named for the visit. I con- 
fess I looked forward to it with no small degree 
of nervousness. I had in my mind nothing 
definite, only a great wish to try to cheer this 
woman who, with the rank of a noble, the wealth 
of a millionaire, and the luxury of a sybarite, 
was poorer, more pitiable than the most miser- 
able beggar that wanders through the streets 

170 



VISIT TO MADAME CHERIF 

of any Christian town, — for that beggar has 
freedom. 

It is needless to describe the details of my visit 
except so far as it relates to Madame Cherif. 
She, with three or four other wives of the Pasha 
and a train of women attendants, met us on our 
arrival. Standing on either side of the entrance 
to the harem were two tall eunuchs. They 
looked like great carved, ebony figures, they 
were so densely black and they stood so motion- 
less. 

With a fine assumption of breezy familiarity I 
at once claimed Madame Cherif as an old ac- 
quaintance, and while she seemed for a moment 
dazed and startled I drew her arm through 
mine, and, glibly chattering, I led her away 
from the rest. 

Once out of earshot of the others, I told her 
rapidly that if — as I suspected — she was un- 
happy and needed a friend, I begged her to 
allow me to be that friend. I did not know if 
she needed or would accept my services, but 
here I was, and I begged her to command me. 
But I reminded her that moments were precious 
and she must be frank and prompt. 



ROSE EYTINGE 

The poor woman looked closely and wonder- 
ingly at me, and then said in an awe-struck 
whisper: "Yes! Yes! There is a God! It is 
true, what the good nuns taught me! Christ 
lives, and he has sent this angel to comfort 
me!" And she would have thrown herself at 
my feet if I had not promptly and impera- 
tively prevented so absurd an act. 

Self-control and a calm demeanour were most 
necessary, for the voices of others of the party 
could be heard. So, giving her a good, old- 
fashioned hand-shake, I drew her on and fell 
to chattering like a magpie, and as soon as we 
were at a safe distance I again begged her to 
tell me quietly if I could do anything to serve 
her. She said with quiet hopelessness, there 
was nothing. Then she added, "If sometimes 
I could see you, if you could tell me of your 
country, your home, where women are free, 
where they are permitted to read, to think !" 

Before I had time to reply we were joined by 
others of the party, and during the rest of the 
visit I had no opportunity to speak confiden- 
tially to her; but I wanted very much to give 
her some little comforting message, so I begged 

172 



A MESSAGE OF HOPE 

to be told the names of some rare plants, and 
then required paper and pencil with which to 
make a note of them. In taking these names 
I made many blunders; in short, I managed to 
write her a line telling her we would certainly 
meet again, and I hoped to be able so to manage 
it that she should return my visit. I might as 
well say here that at the time I told her this I 
had no more hope of being able to accomplish 
such a feat than I had of overturning the Turk- 
ish Empire. 

I contrived to let her see the slip of paper on 
which I had scrawled my little message of hope, 
and shortly afterward she received it from under 
a dish of sweets. She withdrew for a moment 
to the side of a fountain that adorned the court, 
and on rejoining us I had the satisfaction of 
seeing her eat some little paper pellets together 
with some conserve of violets. 

A few days after this visit to the gardens I sent 
to Madame Cherif a ceremonious invitation to 
her to return my visit. As I expected, my in- 
vitation was as ceremoniously declined. I at 
once requested Cherif Pasha to call upon me, 
and to him I expressed my grievance against 

1.73 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Madame Cherif, explaining to him that I, hav- 
ing called upon Madame, was placed in a very- 
awkward position by her declining to return my 
call. That in my country, — etc., etc. 

The Pasha was at great pains to explain to me 
the habits of Oriental women, but I persistently 
declined to be either enlightened or pacified. 
I stood upon my claim that I had visited 
Madame Cherif, and that it was incumbent 
upon her to return that visit. 

After a long and vigorous talk, during which I 
confess I exhibited almost every quality at a 
woman's command except humility and cour- 
tesy the Pasha capitulated. It was settled that 
Madame Cherif should visit me. It was also 
agreed that on the day appointed for her visit 
all the men of my household should absent 
themselves, that my house should be guarded 
by the chief eunuch of Cherif s harem, and that 
nobody should be present — no guests — only 
the women of my household. 

The talk between Madame Cherif and myself 
was pleasant in that it was free and uncon- 
strained, yet it was very sad. The unhappy 
lady fully realised the hopelessness of her posi- 

'74 



A HELPLESS SORROW 

tion. Indeed, she saw it much more clearly 
than I either could or would. There was in- 
finite pathos in the quiet despair with which 
she pointed out to me the impossibility of any 
change in her life. 

She was a Turkish subject. The whole ques- 
tion was summed up in that statement; and 
this woman, whom I had hoped to help and 
comfort, was forced to try to console me in my 
helpless sorrow for her. She said there was 
one thing I could do for her, I could give her 
a few books. I searched the bookshelves and 
selected for her Michelet's "Woman," Sou- 
vestrie's "Pleasures of Old Age," and Balzac's 
"Eugenie Grandet." Then we set to work to 
tear them from their bindings and remove every 
unnecessary leaf, so that she might the more 
easily conceal them about her person. 

This over, amid hopes that the future might 
give us the opportunity to meet often, we parted. 
I never saw Madame Cherif again. 

Very soon I learned that the harem of Cherif 
Pasha had been sent to one of his palaces in the 
interior. When, on meeting Cherif, I inquired 
for Madame Cherif, I was told with the most 

175 



ROSE EYTINGE 

ceremonious courtesy that she was quite well, 
and would shortly return to Cairo, if but for 
the happiness of again seeing me. 

But she never came. I have often wondered 
if the few printed leaves that had been meant 
to lighten the darkness of her sad life had been 
discovered, and been made the means of draw- 
ing still closer the chains of her slavery. 



176 



CHAPTER XXIII 

VERDI'S "AIDA" IN THE CAIRO OPERA-HOUSE — A BLAZE 
OF JEWELS — A COSMOPOLITAN AUDIENCE 

While in Cairo I witnessed the first perform- 
ance of Verdi's opera, "Aida," the occasion being 
the opening of the first opera-house that city 
had ever possessed. 

Ismail Pasha, then Viceroy of Egypt, while a 
good Mussulman, was a great admirer and 
imitator of all things European, especially of 
English and French fashions. So, one day, as 
I have mentioned in an earlier chapter, he 
determined that he would have an opera-house. 
But he found, to his vexation, that it was much 
easier to form this determination than to carry 
it out. 

It was easy enough to obtain plans and esti- 
mates, — all these the European schools offered 
in abundance; but the two almost insuperable 
difficulties which he encountered were, first to 
raise the money with which to build; second, 
to obtain from among the fellaheen, labourers 

1 77 



ROSE EYTINGE 

who could be entrusted with the work. After 
months of delay the land was obtained and 
ground broken ; and after more and more delay 
the building was begun. 

There would be pauses in the proceedings, 
sometimes running into months. At last the 
project was sufficiently advanced to justify the 
hope that some time in the far future the opera- 
house might be an established fact, and next 
Ismail bethought him that it would be a fine and 
appropriate thing to dedicate the house by the 
performance in it for the first time of an opera 
of Oriental plot. Verdi was the composer se- 
lected, and "Aida" was the opera settled upon. 

Verdi came from Paris and was royally lodged 
in one of the viceregal palaces during the time 
occupied by rehearsals, and at the initial per- 
formance he conducted in person. The stage 
presented a positive blaze of light which was 
reflected from the jewels worn by the artists 
and chorus. 

At the time of this performance the Franco- 
Prussian War was raging, and the stage jewels 
and ornaments which had been ordered from 
Parisian manufacturers could not be obtained, 

178 



A BLAZE OF JEWELS 

for the reason that the Frenchmen were too busy 
righting their German neighbours to give any 
attention to business. So in this dilemma, and 
in order that nothing might be lacking to mark 
the occasion with appropriate splendour, the 
Viceroy emptied the treasure-chests of his 
harems and distributed their contents among 
the persons engaged in the performance. 

On that memorable occasion there was dis- 
played on the stage more than three million 
pounds' worth of gems. In order to protect this 
vast amount of wealth there were placed among 
the chorus and "extra" persons a great number 
of detectives, and it was said at the time, with 
great pride, that not a stone of the collection 
was lost. Whether this was a tribute to the 
honesty of the crowd or to the watchfulness of 
the detectives did not appear, but the blaze of 
light and splendour upon the stage was fully 
reflected back from the audience. 

Of course nothing could be seen of the occu- 
pants of the viceregal boxes, except an occa- 
sional flash of light darting through the jalousies, 
— w r hether reflected from a gem, or from a pair 
of glorious dark eyes, who shall say? But the 

i 79 



ROSE EYTINGE 

audience was magnificent in numbers and 
dazzling in appearance. The house was packed 
from floor to ceiling. All the consuls were in 
full dress, many of them in regalia; and there 
was a large sprinkling of English, French, and 
people of other nationalities in uniform, many 
Greek and Albanian notables in their pictur- 
esque costumes, and of course a large propor- 
tion of Mussulmans, whose scarlet tarbooshes 
made patches of brilliant colour throughout the 
house. 

But the women ! What words can do justice 
to the wondrous beauty of their appearance! 
The soft Cairene climate made possible cos- 
tumes of the most diaphanous materials, and 
these costumes were literally encrusted with 
gems. The heads of these ladies gleamed with 
gorgeous tiaras, their breasts blazed with collars, 
necklaces, and revers of gems, and the air was 
heavy with the odours of the flowers with which 
they were adorned. 

When Verdi took his place in the orchestra and 
waved his baton, he seemed extremely nervous, 
but as he warmed to his work his nervousness 
seemed gradually to melt from him, and by the 

1 80 



A GREETING TO VERDI 

end of the first act he had himself perfectly in 
hand. The end of the second act was the signal 
for such an ovation as would have turned the 
head of many a master, but Verdi, while his 
face beamed, and the whole man seemed to 
vibrate with the pleasure that such a greeting 
gave him, was throughout quite self-possessed 
and comparatively calm. 

It was a notable event, as introducing mod- 
ern art in the capital of ancient mysticism, and 
it deserved all the recognition it received. And 
too great praise cannot be accorded to Ismail 
Pasha, a Mohammedan monarch, for the public 
spirit and appreciation of art he exhibited in 
producing such a result. 



181 



CHAPTER XXIV 

EGYPTIAN ANTIQUITIES — A REMARKABLE COINCIDENCE 
— A GREEK DOG — A PRESENT OF MUTTON "ON THE 
HOOF" — A BERBER PRINCE — THE RESTORATION OF 
A LONG-LOST CHILD 

During my residence in Egypt I was the recip- 
ient of many gifts, some of intrinsic value, but 
many of them valuable only because of their 
curious and unique character. One was a 
drinking-cup and saucer cut from the horn of 
a young buffalo when the moon was in the third 
quarter. The legend of this cup was, that if 
a new-born babe received its first drink from it 
the child would be blessed with good fortune 
during its life. 

Another gift was a figure of a sacred bull, in 
green bronze. This had been discovered in 
the tomb of one of the Pharaohs, where it had 
lain for more than five thousand years. This 
ancient treasure I gave to the Rev. Dr. Chan- 
ning, the American clergyman, an enthusiastic 
and learned Egyptologist, and for many years 

182 



EGYPTIAN ANTIQUITIES 

a resident of London, in which city we met. 
Our talk naturally turned upon Egypt, and in 
the course of the distinguished doctor's conver- 
sation — a great part of which, I must confess, 
was indeed "dark as Egypt" to me — he told 
me how he had for years been seeking the 
bronze image of a certain sacred bull, which 
image was needed to complete and verify cer- 
tain data over which he had spent years of toil 
and research. I told him of my possession, to 
which, I acknowledged, I had, up to this time, 
attached no great importance except to regard 
it as a unique paper-weight. 

I also told him that when the figure was given 
to me it had been rolled in a strip of papyrus, 
the whole being enclosed in a piece of the 
peculiar yellowish, greyish linen in which all 
mummies and their belongings are preserved. 
The doctor's excitement during my recital of 
these details almost passed those bounds of 
conventionality so carefully preserved in polite 
society everywhere, but especially in English 
circles. When I told him that it would give 
me pleasure to place the whole relic at his dis- 
posal, he almost "went to pieces." 

183 



ROSE EYTINGE 

It was settled that I should send the precious 
"loot" to him the following day, he to send a 
trusty messenger for it, and by eight o'clock the 
next morning the messenger arrived. I was 
greatly pleased to learn, shortly afterward, that 
Dr. Channing's highest hopes were more than 
realised. The papyrus gave him the fullest 
details, and aided him in establishing beyond 
a peradventure the link of evidence for which 
he had sought so long and fruitlessly. 

Another curious gift which was brought to me 
was of quite a different sort. It was a Greek 
dog. 

It was not a pretty dog, Greek though it was, 
and its habits quite put to rout all one's ideas 
of the beauty and artistic qualities of the 
Greeks. Dogs are not popular in Egypt. The 
wild, semi- wolfish creatures — very like coyotes 
— that infest the country destroy one's sen- 
timent about "old dog Tray," for the Egyptian 
dog is neither gentle nor kind, and he has a 
trick of attacking you from behind. The 
dog's stay among us was limited to that of his 
donor. 



A PRESENT OF MUTTON 

But of all the extraordinary gifts to make to a 
rather quietly disposed woman, commend me 
to a sheep! 

It was on the occasion of some Mohammedan 
holiday. I was awakened by the confused 
sounds of many feet upon the veranda, and the 
sound of many voices all raised at once, — some 
in praise, some in expostulation, others in stern 
tones of command, the whole being supple- 
mented at intervals by a loud and plaintive 
"Ba-a-a!" 

After a long and somewhat anxious suspense, 
the trampling feet and many voices entered the 
house and made for my bedroom. After 
due knocking the procession entered, headed 
by my major-domo, who was a most stately 
personage, and, having a smattering of every 
language in the universe, spoke none. 

Nicolo was closely followed by Marie, a Mal- 
tese maiden, who, I must confess, usually followed 
Nicolo pretty closely, and bringing up the rear 
was every man employed about the place, from 
the cook to the water-carrier. 

Trotting in their midst, looking wretched and 
terrified at his unaccustomed surroundings, was 

185 



ROSE EYTINGE 

an enormous ram. He had evidently been sub- 
mitted to an elaborate toilet for the occasion, 
for his fleece was snowy white, and his great, 
curled horns, and his feathered tail, which 
swept the ground, were ornamented with blue 
ribbons. 

Marie, also ornamented, like the sheep, with 
blue ribbons, and tricked out also with "nods 
and becks and wreathed smiles," stepped for- 
ward, having evidently been selected for the hon- 
ourable position of spokeswoman. In a speech 
which I understood much better by watching 
her pantomime than by listening to her lame, 
polyglot jargon, she begged me to accept this 
small "ship," — by which I made out that she 
meant this enormous ram, — as a proof of re- 
gard, love, reverence, etc. 

Of course I accepted. What else could I do ? 
I was there in my bed. There was my entire 
establishment, and there was "de leetle ship." 
So I patted my gift on the head, and let him 
place his moist nose in my palm, and duly ad- 
mired him, and at last, to my very great relief, 
saw him led away. 

Where? I never dared to inquire. I only 
1 86 



A BERBER PRINCE 

know that my table, and the tables of several 
of my neighbours, were all bountifully supplied 
with mutton for some time. I never could bring 
myself quite to enjoy that mutton; I could not 
forget the trusting way in which that "leetle 
ship" visited me, and had allowed me to pat 
his curly head, and it didn't seem quite a nice 

way to treat him, to 

But let us have in the next course. 

The very finest gift I ever received was a 
prince, — a real, for-true, flesh-and-blood prince. 

It happened this way. A party made up of 
persons whom I knew went in their dahabeah 
up the Nile as far as the Second Cataract, and 
while in that Upper Egypt country they met a 
party of marauders who were bringing slaves 
from the Berber country down to the slave- 
markets. 

They noticed among the slaves a boy about ten 
years of age, and of singular and striking beau- 
ty. He repelled all their attempts to make ac- 
quaintance, held himself proudly aloof, and 
preserved a stern silence and stoical manner 
fitted more to a man than to the child he was. 

187 



ROSE EYTINGE 

His captors treated him with a rough, dumb 
sort of consideration, and, while his fellow-slaves 
were most cruelly and villainously treated, he 
was passed over and artfully overlooked. 

Through their interpreter my friends learned 
that this child was indeed a prince, — his father 
was king of a powerful and warlike tribe. The 
child had been captured in a night attack, and 
his captors regretted the fact and greatly feared 
the vengeance which his father would most 
surely take. So when these travellers offered 
to buy him their offer was accepted. 

But when the bargain was concluded, and the 
boy was transferred to their dahabeah, they did 
not in the least know what to do with him. He 
spoke a Berber dialect, and there was not a man 
on board who could understand him. He re- 
fused alike to join the crew "forward" or to 
associate with the servants; he would sit apart, 
watching the white people with an expression 
of amazed curiosity; and from a sort of cavalier 
respect in his manner toward them he seemed 
to acknowledge their superiority. When my 
friends came to Alexandria they sent this child 
out to me. On obtaining possession of him I 



AN EBONY BEAUTY 

at once carried out Mr. Dick's advice as to 
David Copperfield, — I had him bathed. 

When he next appeared before me, his beau- 
tiful bronze skin shining, his exquisitely formed 
feet slipped into scarlet pointed slippers, dressed 
in a white shirt, and with a scarlet sash about 
his waist, and a tarboosh on his head, I thought 
him one of the most beautiful objects I had ever 
seen. And as I look back now, and conjure 
him before me as he looked then, I still think so. 
The poor child's solitude, the wrongs inflicted 
upon him, appealed most strongly to me. I 
opened my arms. Never shall I forget the 
flash that seemed to envelop him; for the first 
and last time I saw his eyes suffuse with tears. 
With a swift action he sprang toward me, and 
for an instant only he rested in my arms. Then 
he slid down to my feet, kissed the hem of my 
gown, and — never taking his eyes from my 
face — settled himself into an easy attitude and 
uttered a brief grunt of content. From that 
moment his position in the establishment was 
settled. He belonged to me. 

For me he would perform any office ; he would 
fetch and carry; and, by an arrangement en- 



ROSE EYTINGE 

tirely his own, he would stand behind my chair 
at table, and take from any hand that proffered 
me anything, and himself hand it to me. 

I soon, however, discovered a difficulty, — in- 
deed, there were a good many domestic diffi- 
culties consequent upon this child's presence 
in the household. The particular difficulty 
which presented itself was his getting anything 
to eat. He absolutely refused to eat with or in 
any way to associate with the servants, so I got 
into the habit of duplicating what I myself ate, 
and, placing it upon a dish, would give this to 
my young henchman. He would retire and 
put it in a place of safety, and when he thought 
himself quite unobserved he would eat. 

We tried him with every Arabic name we had 
ever heard or heard of, and when we said "Hal- 
eel" he expressed the greatest delight, so that 
matter was settled and his name discovered. 

He had a quick intelligence, and, unlike most 
of his race, he had a ready sense of humour. 
He soon mastered the Arabic that he heard 
spoken by those about him. 

My interest in the boy increased daily, and 
I determined that I would seize upon any op- 

190 



A PRINCE'S GRATITUDE 

portunity that might offer to restore him to his 
family and his rank. 

With my and his fragments of Arabic I soon 
managed to talk quite freely with him, and 
I imparted my determination to him. His de- 
light was too deep for words; he looked at me 
with unutterable gratitude, flung himself at 
my feet, kissed my gown, and disappeared. 
When he presented himself several hours later, 
he had evidently been crying, poor child ! 

Needless to say, I soon ceased to refer to this 
resolve of mine. Everybody regarded it as a 
most quixotic notion, entirely impossible of exe- 
cution. So Haleel and I kept our own counsel. 

When strangers visited me, Haleel, who was 
rarely absent from my side, would scan them, 
look questioningly at them, and then at me, 
and when he learned that there was nothing 
in their visit likely to help our project, he would 
sigh — a low inward, rather than outward sigh 
— and disappear. When he reappeared he 
would always come in smiling and apparently 
happy, usually with some gift for me, — a 
captured bird, a basket of figs, or a branch of 
oranges. 

191 



ROSE EYTINGE 

But one day, oh, day of days for my young 
prince! there came a man from Upper Egypt, 
a consular agent who had got himself into 
trouble and who needed some help and pro- 
tection that it happened to be in my power to 
bestow. 

I found that he talked the Berber dialect. 
Haleel spoke to him; they understood each 
other. 

Then there occurred one of the most dra- 
matic scenes I ever witnessed. 

At first the man, a large, forbidding-looking 
creature, questioned Haleel. Haleel replied 
briefly. As this examination proceeded, the 
huge man seemed to lose importance, and the 
child to gain it; and when, in reply to some 
crowning question, Haleel replied, briefly still, 
but in ringing tones, evidently making some 
startling statement, the man, with a great cry, 
flung himself on the floor before the child and 
literally grovelled at his feet, while Haleel stood 
erect with blazing eyes transfigured with maj- 
esty. 

Details were soon arranged. You may be 
sure my consular agent was not pressed too 

192 



A LOST CHILD RESTORED 

hard 5 the charges against him were pigeon- 
holed, and with all possible speed his face was 
turned homeward. 

And Haleel, my young prince, my slave, my 
comrade, my protege, was to accompany him, 
under the most solemn pledge that he would 
be returned to his father. The doubtins; 
Thomases on all hands, especially those who 
had always considered my project of sending 
the child back to his home as a huge joke, 
smiled and shrugged their shoulders, and ex- 
pressed more incredulity than ever. 

But Haleel believed in the consular agent, 
and I believed in Haleel. The child, in the 
jargon that he and I had patched up between 
us, made me understand that the Berber with 
whom he was going would be only too pleased 
and proud to return him to his father, for his 
father was a powerful king and would not only 
shower gifts upon his child's restorer, but 
would protect the man's tribe. 

I gave Haleel a tiny locket and told him 
to conceal it. which he promptly proceeded 
to do bv weaving it into the tassel of his tar- 
boosh. When he was with his father, and not 

193 



ROSE EYTINGE 

before, he was to give it to the Berber, with 
instructions to pass it down from hand to hand 
by any traveller, or sheik, or soldier who was 
coming to Lower Egypt until it reached me, 
when I would reward the messenger. 

And so Haleel went. 

Ah! how many times he turned around when 
he reached the foot of the hill, and raced back 
to the terrace where I stood watching him, and 
flung himself first into my arms and then at 
my feet, uttering mingled words of sorrow and 
joy, of love, of gratitude. 

Some eighteen months afterward an Arab 
sheik demanded an audience, and he told the 
janissary that he brought me a message from 
Prince Haleel. 

First there was a little hamper of straw, then 
another lesser hamper of some sweet grass, 
and so on until at last, enclosed in a tiny silver 
box of cunning workmanship, there lay my 
locket. 



i 94 



CHAPTER XXV 

SIR HENRY BULWER — AMERICAN OFFICERS IN THE KHE- 

DIVE'S SERVICE — STONE PASHA COLONEL THOMAS 

W, RHETT — GENERAL SHERMAN — PATRIOTISM MOL- 
LIFIED BY OLD ASSOCIATIONS — A MEETING OF ONE- 
TIME ENEMIES 

While in Egypt I met a number of notable 
persons. At this moment I remember a gentle- 
man who, in that community at least, was 
better known for his eccentricities than for his 
ability as a diplomat. This was Sir Henry 
Bulwer, brother of Lord Lytton. 

Sir Henry was a sort of resident Plenipo- 
tentiary Minister Extraordinary for the British 
Government. To describe his position in a 
more homely but clearer way, he was appointed 
to Egypt as a sort of diplomatic "Sister Anne"; 
and his real duty consisted in keeping a sharp 
look-out that no movement, however insig- 
nificant it might seem to be, that could, how- 
ever remotely, have an adverse influence upon 
English interests in Egypt, could take place 
without his immediate knowledge, and a corre- 

195 



ROSE EYTINGE 

spondingly immediate communication to the 
home powers. 

Sir Henry was an invalid, a valetudinarian, 
a hypochondriac, and anything else that one 
could think of that is sour, discontented, and 
disagreeable. He lived the life of a recluse, 
his poor health making this a necessity; and 
when, on the rare occasions he invited one or 
more guests to dine with him, it was considered 
more a penance than a pleasure; for his place 
at table was always banked in with medicine- 
bottles and pill-boxes, and it was his habit to 
dose himself with these various drugs between 
the courses. His only really close friend was 
a monkey, a hideous little beast, as bad-tem- 
pered and ill-conditioned as his master, but 
with a much better digestion. 

The American colony in Egypt of course 
interested me, and this colony was largely 
augmented during my stay there through the 
instrumentality of Ismail Pasha himself. 

It had long been the secret wish of Ismail 
to feel himself able to make a bold stand, throw 
off the yoke of the Sultan, and declare himself 

196 



GENERAL MOTT'S IDEA 

an independent sovereign. But to do this, 
even to attempt it, was out of the question, 
unless the whole of Lower Egypt could be 
placed upon a firm war footing. 

How to do this was, and for a long time had 
been, Ismail's great difficulty. An American 
attached to his Court seemed to have solved 
the problem for him. This American was 
Thaddeus P. Mott, a son of Dr. Alexander 
Mott, of New York, and at the time I refer to 
— the 'sixties — he was attached to the Khe- 
dive's service with the rank of General. 

We all remember that at the close of the war 
between the North and South many of the fore- 
most and best-trained military men in this 
country, who had stood by their States, went 
down and were lost with their cause. 

General Mott's idea was based upon this 
fact. He proposed to bring into Egypt some of 
these distinguished military leaders and employ 
them to train the Viceroy's troops. 

The Viceroy eagerly accepted this plan, and 
he gave orders to General Mott to carry it into 
execution. The General returned to the United 
States to obtain such men as, in his judgment, 

i 97 



ROSE EYTINGE 

would be most valuable, and of the officers he 
selected I recall Generals Loring, Rhett, and 
Stone; Colonels Mason, Purdy, Hunt, Du 
Chaillu-Long; and many others. 

But it is a far cry from America to Egypt. 
The majority of the officers selected were men 
of family, and when the war was over they 
found themselves reduced to penury. In every 
case it was necessary to advance them money 
with which to equip themselves and their fam- 
ilies for the long trip. Thus, when they arrived 
in Egypt, they were to a man, deeply in debt 
to the Government that they had come so far 
to serve, and they still needed aid to provide 
their families with homes; so that, however 
dissatisfied they might feel, they had no free- 
dom of choice, but were obliged to accept any 
condition that might present itself. 

A short time after General Mott's departure, 
which had been conducted with the utmost 
secrecy (as was supposed), the Porte received 
information as to the motive of his journey, 
and the Viceroy had been made quietly but 
most convincingly to understand that the pres- 
ent state of his army was perfectly satisfactory, 



THE AMERICAN CONTINGENT 

and that it was not at all necessary, nor would 
it be advisable, to introduce any reforms. 

The result of all this was that when the 
American contingent arrived, with high hopes 
and reawakened ambitions, their hopes were 
dashed to the ground, and their ambitions died 
in their hearts. 

The generals were reduced to colonels, the 
colonels to majors, the captains to lieutenants, 
and so on, and of course with corresponding 
cuts in their pay. 

Of all the American contingent this blow 
fell most heavily upon Charles P. Stone and 
Thomas W. Rhett, and the two men received 
this blow according to their different natures. 

General Stone was cool, calm, and self-con- 
tained. He was a thorough French scholar, 
and possessed a remarkable aptitude for the 
acquisition of languages. As a consequence, 
in an incredibly brief time he mastered the 
Arabic tongue. This combination of qualities 
enabled him to turn his misfortune into success. 

Ismail Pasha was himself proficient in French, 
but before any and everything else he was an 
Arab to the core of his heart, and the foreigner 

199 



ROSE EYTINGE 

who could talk with him in his beloved native 
tongue could walk straight into his heart. 

And straight into the Viceroy's heart walked 
General Stone. He received the appointment 
of chief of staff of the Egyptian army, with the 
rank and pay of general; fine quarters were 
assigned to him; and he was in constant per- 
sonal attendance upon the Viceroy. 

General Rhett could not speak French. He 
spoke only English, but he spoke that most 
forcibly and unmistakably, and he was much 
more frank and forcible in the expression of 
his opinions and of his general dissatisfaction 
than was politic under the circumstances. The 
result was that General Rhett's rank was per- 
manently reduced to a colonelcy, and he was 
officially notified that he could not begin to 
draw pay until his debt to the Egyptian Govern- 
ment was paid. No duties were given him, 
and his quarters were inadequate to the needs 
and the position of himself and his family. 

As might have been expected, Rhett suc- 
cumbed to these repeated blows of fate. He 
suffered a stroke of paralysis that laid him help- 
less upon his bed, with his left side dead. 



GENERAL SHERMAN'S VISIT 

While things were in this state with these 
two men, there came a distinguished visitor 
to Egypt, also an American soldier. This was 
General Sherman, who, in a warship placed 
at his command by our Government, was 
making his famous trip around the world. 

These three men, Sherman, Rhett, and Stone, 
had been classmates at West Point. 

Of course everybody made much of our great 
hero, and on all hands there were given dinners, 
dances, luncheons, and picnics in his honour; 
and greatly General Sherman enjoyed them. 

At many of these functions, official and semi- 
official, General Sherman met General Stone, 
but these meetings were merely ceremonious; 
there was never any cordiality nor any attempt 
to renew old acquaintance. General Sherman, 
to the last hour of his life, never relaxed (but 
in the one instance I shall relate) the rigour 
of his resentment against those who took part 
against the Union. 

In the midst of the many engagements and 
distractions consequent upon the presence of 
General Sherman, I tried not to neglect my 
friends, the Rhetts. I was sitting one day at 



ROSE EYTINGE 

General Rhett's bedside, endeavouring to en- 
tertain him with some account of our distin- 
guished visitor, when, after a rather long pause, 
he said: "I have never seen Sherman since he 
and Stone and I were boys together in the same 
class at West Point. Bill Sherman and I used 
to be mighty chummy then. And now we have 
drifted away off here, I wonder if he would 
come and see me? I would like mighty well 
to shake hands with him." 

I had known of the former friendship of these 
men, and I had watched, with interest, the 
attitude of Sherman and Stone to each other. 
Remembering that, and remembering too, the 
hard, stern lines of Sherman's face, I feared 
there was little likelihood of poor Rhett's wish 
being realised. So I remained silent. But 
I promised myself that it should be tried. 

With this purpose steadily before me, and 
most carefully keeping my own counsel, I not 
only took advantage of every opportunity that 
I had of meeting General Sherman, but I made 
opportunities whenever I could. I did my 
best to cultivate him, to make him like me, and, 
as this was the beginning of a friendship with 



GENERAL SHERMAN ENTRAPPED 

this great man that ended only with his life, I 
think I may say that I succeeded. 

While staying in Cairo I was spending a 
great deal of time on a dahabeah that the Vice- 
roy had placed at my disposal. I gave Gen- 
eral Sherman an informal invitation to break- 
fast with me on board that craft, promising 
that I would try to rive him something like an 
old-fashioned home breakfast. 

The General accepted; the breakfast was 
nearer to our expectations than I could have 
dared to hope, and after we had adjourned 
to the upper deck and the General had lighted 
his cigar, I opened fire, told him my little story, 
and made my request. But when I saw the 
effect I had produced I confess I was frightened. 

The General afterward told me that he felt 
himself fairly — or rather unfairly — entrapped, 
and he could not remember having ever felt 
more angry with a woman. 

The lines in his face grew hard and cold as 
ice, and a steely glint came into his eyes. When 
I saw these things I realised for the first time 
to what an extent I had committed myself, and 
had allowed my sympathies to earn* away my 

203 



ROSE EYTINGE 

judgment. Somehow my voice failed me, and 
I am afraid my eloquence rather trailed off. 

The General rose, and, looking down upon 
me with impassive severity, said: 

"Madam, I am sorry, but I cannot entertain 
your request. I am an officer of the United 
States Army and a loyal citizen of the Republic, 
— two facts which, in the warmth and zeal of 
your friendship, you seem to have overlooked. 
I will never do anything that might in the 
remotest way give aid or comfort to my coun- 
try's enemies." 

As may readily be understood, I was crushed, 
and if the General had carried out what seemed 
to be his intention — to turn upon his heel and 
walk ashore (as I ought to have mentioned the 
boat was moored), — the matter would have 
ended there, and General Rhett would have 
lost his wish; but by a special good fortune 
he had left his hat in the cabin. When he dis- 
covered this, his temper got the better of his 
dignity, and while he was looking about for his 
hat he let drop a few warm expressions about 
"rattlesnakes" and "damned rebels. " 

I was not slow to take advantage of this 
204 



MEETING OLD FRIENDS 

lapse. I took his hand and drew him back to 
his place upon the settee. I begged him to 
forgive me. I told him that in my wish to 
serve a friend I had forgotten that I was talk- 
ing to a great man, the hero of "the March to 
the Sea.' 5 I had just meant to tell "Bill" 
Sherman, who had been at West Point with 
"Tom" Rhett when they were both boys, how 
unfortunate and unhappy poor Tom Rhett 
was, and had wondered if Bill Sherman wouldn't 
like to shake hands with him ! 

By good fortune I struck the right chord. 
The General forgave me. I was not slow to 
follow up my advantage, and in less time than 
it takes to tell it he and I were on our way to 
Rhett' s quarters. 

There, after brief, ordinary greetings, the 
two men were left alone together. Mrs. Rhett 
and I retired and indulged in a good cry. When, 
after some time, we were summoned to join 
them, the eyes of both old soldiers were sus- 
piciously red, and their furrowed faces both 
bore traces of tears. 



CHAPTER XXVI 

THE FELLAHEEN OF EGYPT — TAXATION — "HOW THE 
OTHER HALF LIVES" IN THE EAST — A BEDOUIN FAMILY 
AT RAMLEH — AN ARAB MOTHER-IN-LAW — MARRIAGE 
A LA MODE 

Now that Egypt is virtually under English rule, 
the condition of the lower classes may be a 
shade better than when I lived there, some 
thirty years ago. Then the country was a 
mere dependency of Turkey, and its sovereign 
was, as his title indicated, the slave of the 
Sultan. 

There were but two native classes — the 
rich and titled, and the labourers, and the gulf 
which divided those two classes was deep and 
impassable. There was an utter absence of 
a prosperous middle class. All the trade en- 
terprise of the country was in the hands of 
foreigners. 

Of the native population, only those attached 
to the Court and high in favour would care 
to own to the possession of much of this world's 
206 



THE FELLAHEEN OF EGYPT 

goods. Anything more deplorable than the 
condition of the fellaheen, or labouring class, 
cannot be imagined. Of home, its comforts, 
possessions, beauties, they knew absolutely 
nothing. A mud hut, with a hole for entrance 
and exit, a straw mat, a goolah to contain water, 
which is dipped from the river, and an iron 
pot, would fairly represent their worldly pos- 
sessions. A single garment of indigo-blue 
cotton cloth, with a white cotton skull-cap, 
several yards of soft, white cotton cloth, and 
a red tarboosh, would customarily summarise 
their wardrobe. The blue cotton garment — 
a sort of compromise between a nightshirt 
and a butcher's smock — was the sole covering 
for the body. The other articles served to 
cover the head, for, however scarce the Mussul- 
man's body-garments may be, his head is 
always warmly clad. 

But let it not for a moment be supposed that 
the establishment which I have described is 
carried on free of expense. The rent for the 
mud-hole is rigorously demanded and collect- 
ed. The food, usually bought ready cooked 
from a vender sitting in squalid rags on some 

207 



ROSE EYTINGE 

corner, with one eye on the steaming pot beside 
him, and the other zealously watching for cus- 
tomers, is never obtained without much scream- 
ing and haggling and bargaining. 

The head of a family living thus may, with 
much secrecy and economy, have managed 
in the course of many months to accumulate 
a few coins, an indiscriminate collection of 
copper and silver, and possibly, but not prob- 
ably, a few gold coins of every nation under 
the sun. These, carefully concealed in an 
earthen vessel, will be hidden somewhere under 
the earthen floor of the hut. I often heard that 
a good Mussulman's hoard was almost sure 
to be found not far from the spot where he 
usually offered up his prayers. He might be 
saving this hoard for some special and highly 
coveted purpose, — perhaps to buy from her 
parents some dark-eyed maiden upon whom 
his eyes had rested, and whom he desired to 
add to the number of his already numerous 
wives. Or even a more solemn and sacred 
motive may have urged him. Perhaps he 
looked forward to that highest hope of the good 
Mohammedan, a pilgrimage to Mecca, the 

208 



GOVERNMENT BAKSHEESH 

accomplishment of which hope would confer 
upon him, on his return, the right to wear a 
green turban, and to paint green the lintel- 
posts of his hut, if he had one. 

Whatever might be his motive for the col- 
lection of this little hoard, his possession of it 
would be very short-lived if there happened to 
arise any sudden desire or necessity for bak- 
sheesh on the part of the government. This 
baksheesh would be called taxes, and the occa- 
sions for the collections of taxes were numer- 
ous and arose from many causes. 

Possibly the Sultan wished to replenish his 
seraglio with some fresh Georgian beauties, 
a carefully selected bunch of whom had just 
reached Constantinople in the charge of some 
venerable sheik. They came high, but the Sun 
of the Universe wanted them, and perhaps 
the exchequer was low. In this crisis, what 
so natural as that the Sun should communicate 
his wishes to his faithful satellite, the Viceroy 
of Egypt? The Viceroy would at once be 
impressed with the thought that the public 
interest must be conserved, the exchequer must 
be replenished, and the fellaheen must be taxed. 

209 



ROSE EYTINGE 

The consular agents of the Egyptian Govern- 
ment throughout the country would be notified 
that at a certain time the duly authorised agents 
would arrive to receive from their hands a 
specified amount, such amount to be regulated 
by the number of miserable wretches existing 
in whichever little village might be in point. 

Then would begin the collection, conducted 
by a small military force on one side, and the 
howling, writhing, screaming populace on the 
other, the ceremony usually ending with a 
pretty general administering of the bastinado, 
the result of which would be the production of 
hoards from various hiding-places. 

A great stretch of sand divided my house at 
Ramleh from the Mediterranean, and on this 
patch of sand a Bedouin family set up their 
roof-tree, which consisted of a tiny tent, com- 
posed of parti-coloured rags, stretched over 
three crooked sticks. This wretched little 
shelter, with its poverty, would have put to 
shame any Indian tepee I ever saw on the 
plains. The family consisted of the father, 
mother, and twenty sons. I should rather say 



AN ARAB MOTHER-IN-LAW 

mother, father, etc., for the old lady was un- 
deniably the head of the house. Nineteen of 
the twenty sons were married and lived else- 
where; but now one and now another of them 
would come to visit their parents, and they 
always brought with them a few wives and a 
small regiment of children. 

These visits were of irregular length, and 
were usually brought to a somewhat abrupt 
end in the midst of an animated discussion 
between the visiting wives and the resident 
mother-in-law, during winch the former quests 
would hastily depart down the hill in an irregu- 
lar double-quick, to an accompaniment of shrill 
anathema, empty tin cans, and other missiles 
flung after them by the irate old lady. 

The apple of her eye, the light of her life, 
her youngest son, was a tall, grand-looking 
young bronze standing six foot three. He lived 
with his parents and was unmarried, but had 
recently fallen in love with a comely little dusky 
maiden of about fourteen years of age, and 
after many meetings, and much warm dis- 
cussion, haggling, and bargaining between the 
parents of the pair, the price of the bride was 



ROSE EYTINGE 

settled upon, and the time of the wedding was 
fixed. The preparations were of an unusually 
extensive and elaborate character, and were 
carried on with great activity. The old lady 
made frequent pilgrimages from home, remain- 
ing absent for several days, leading one to sus- 
pect that, in the words of Fa gin, she was going 
"on the prowl." Sometimes her husband would 
meekly and unprotestingly make a weak at- 
tempt to accompany her on these little expedi- 
tions, but the old lady promptly frowned down 
such attempts, using her usual methods of 
persuasion, — any missile within easy reach 
as she stood on the brow of the sandhill. The 
old gentleman would quietly turn about, re- 
enter the tent, and address himself to his needle- 
work, for evidently to him was entrusted the 
making of the trousseau. 

At last the wedding night arrived. The 
bride was glittering with coins, the air was 
rent with twanging, moaning, squeaking sounds 
that passed for music, and voices arose in chant. 
Hands were joined in a simple, swaying move- 
ment that passed for dancing, and all went 
merrily. Suddenly I was summoned to re- 

212 



MARRIAGE A LA MODE 

ceive my neighbour, the head of the family. 
The old lady was greatly embarrassed, and, as 
she stood in the moonlight, with her bare, 
brown legs showing under her simple blue 
garment, — in fact she was quite decollete at 
both ends, — and with her elf-locks, coloured 
with henna, fluttering in the soft, night air, 
she was a model of Meg Merrilies. 

The occasion of her visit was to tell of a 
disaster. At this late hour it was discovered 
that no sugar had been provided with which 
to sweeten the sherbet. The family stores were 
promptly placed before her, and she was bidden 
to help herself. She selected the brown, moist 
sugar, drew up her solitary garment until she 
had formed it into an impromptu bag, filled 
this with sugar, overwhelmed us with thanks 
and blessings, and went on her way rejoicing. 



213 



CHAPTER XXVII 

BACK TO THE STAGE — SHOOK & PALMER AND THE UNION 
SQUARE THEATRE, NEW YORK — CHARLES THORNE — 
DION BOUCICAULT — "LED ASTRAY " — "BLOW FOR 
BLOW" — MARIE WILKINS 

When I came back to America, about 1872 or 
1873, I had no intention of ever returning to 
the stage; I do not know that I had any settled 
purpose one way or the other. As I had gone 
to Europe and the East because the shaping 
of my life drew me there, so I came home when 
fate called me. 

And very gladly I obeyed that call, for I had 
yearned and wearied for my home; but when 
I found myself at home once more my life was 
such a full and busy one that it seemed there 
was no room in it for more work; and for that 
reason I concluded that my life as an actress 
was ended. 

But then, as always, the stage was my loyal, 
faithful, wise friend; much wiser for me, and 
much kinder to me, than I have ever been to 
myself. Thus it fell out that after I had thought 

214 



MY RETURN TO THE STAGE 

my stage career was ended I did my highest 
and my best dramatic work; playing for the 
first time, among other parts, Lady Macbeth, 
Cleopatra, Hermione, Rose Michel, Gabrielle 
Le Brun, Felicia, and Miss Multon. 

My return to the stage was brought about 
by the wishes and through the offers of the 
then leading American managers, Lester Wal- 
lack, Augustin Daly, and Shook & Palmer. 

As my old friends as well as my former man- 
agers, Lester Wallack and Augustin Daly both 
called upon me and made me tempting offers 
to join their forces. While I was considering 
under which banner I should enroll myself, 
A. M. Palmer, of the firm of Shook & Palmer, 
managers of the Union Square Theatre, called, 
and, on behalf of his partner and himself, made 
me an equally flattering offer. 

Shook & Palmer and their theatre were 
alike strangers to me, but Sheridan Shook was 
a protege of my old friend, Thurlow Weed, 
and Thurlow W T eed threw the weight of his 
influence in favour of the Union Square Theatre, 
and to the Union Square Theatre I went. 
215 



ROSE EYTINGE 

That theatre had then been but recently 
lifted from the variety to the legitimate standard, 
and the company occupying the stage at that 
time was acting a piece adapted from the 
French play called "Le Centenaire." 

The play in which I first appeared was "The 
Geneva Cross," a four-act drama founded upon 
the Franco-Prussian War, written by George 
Fawcett Rowe. I played Gabrielle Le Brun 
and Charles Thorne played Riel Dubourg. 

Ah! that Charles Thorne! He was a good, 
strong, virile actor; but he was also an invet- 
erate and adroit "guyer," and it was no simple 
matter, after he became easy in his lines, to 
play a serious scene with him. For instance, 
in a most dramatic situation in "The Geneva 
Cross," I was called upon to say to him, "Who 
are you?" and he ought to have answered 
heroically, "I am Riel Dubourg." What he 
did say was, "I am the pie-biter of Surinam." 

The next play in which I acted was the old 
blank- verse drama, "Love's Sacrifice," I play- 
ing Margaret Elmore. This part was one that 
216 



UNION SQUARE REHEARSALS 

I had often played when I was associated with 
Wallack and Davenport, J. W. Wallack play- 
ing Matthew Elmore and E. L. Davenport 
playing St. Lo. The piece was put on at the 
Union Square only because "Led Astray," then 
in course of preparation was not ready; and 
the intention was to run it for only one week, 
by which time it was calculated that "Led 
Astray'' would be ready. But "Love's Sac- 
rifice' ' played to such unexpectedly good busi- 
ness that it was kept on for several weeks. 

During all this time we continued to rehearse 
"Led Astray," and the result of these long- 
continued rehearsals was that the first per- 
formance was as smooth and as well rounded 
and in every respect as satisfactory as was the 
last performance after a continuous run of six 
months. 

These rehearsals were conducted by Dion 
Boucicault, who had translated and adapted 
the piece from "La Tentation," I think, of 
Octave Feuillet, and they were equal to a liberal 
dramatic education. 

The play was like a child whose growth one 
can mark from day to day. Boucicault did 

217 



ROSE EYTINGE 

not edit it with a pair of scissors and a paste- 
pot, but he corrected it with a note-book and 
a pencil. 

There were in the company one or two per- 
sons who could, on occasion, say some rather 
bright things. "These things to hear" would 
Dion Boucicault "seriously incline"; but while 
the company laughed at them at the moment 
and forgot them the next, not so the astute 
Dion; he would either pass them by appar- 
ently without notice, or with a grave expression 
of disapproval at our levity in such a serious 
moment. 

But the next morning, at a place in the dia- 
logue where one of these quips could be used 
with profit, our mentor would pause, as if a 
thought had just struck him, and say, "Stop a 
bit," and out would come that little note-book, 
"Just say, instead of so-and-so," — and then he 
would read, as a quite fresh thought, some 
child of wit that had been born at the previous 
day's rehearsal. 

When this first occurred, the quiet coolness 
of the transaction somewhat took away our 
breath; but afterward we used rather to await 

218 




DIOX BOUCICAULT 



"LED ASTRAY" 

with interest the advent of these little waifs. 
But never did any one venture to intimate to 
the great dramatist that this little trick of 
annexation had been observed. 

And Dion Boucicault was a great man, — 
great if only in his power to assimilate the work 
of others, and, clothing it in the graceful garb 
of his own charming words, make the world 
forget that it had ever had a previous existence. 

During the half-year run of "Led Astray" 
there occurred many incidents, unimportant in 
themselves, but which were all factors in keeping 
things lively and active among us. I myself 
never had any admiration for either the play 
or for my part in it. I had conceived this 
rather unfavourable opinion on my first reading 
of the manuscript, and the favour with which 
both the play and my part in it were received 
never had the effect of changing my verdict. 

Indeed, my low estimate of my part was so 
clear that I said to both Mr. Palmer and Mr. 
Boucicault that if I succeeded in getting any- 
thing out of the part the credit would be due 
rather to me than to Mr. B.; and the fact that 
219 



ROSE EYTINGE 

many excellent actresses, from time to time, 
essayed the part, and not one of them ever 
achieved any success in it, would seem to go 
far to prove that, so far at least, my judgment 
was correct. 

I think my success was due, not to any super- 
excellent work on my part, but only because I 
was fortunate in catching its keynote, which 
was essentially minor. Throughout the play the 
character was negative. More than any part I 
have ever played, it demanded repose, enforced 
repose. During the entire action Armande is 
called upon to do nothing, but to do it well. 

Despite my slighting estimate of Armande, 
it is only justice to her to acknowledge that she 
brought me great store of popularity; and I be- 
lieve that this popularity was very largely due 
to a little verse that I was called upon to read. 

It ran thus: 

" I have another life I long to meet, 
Without which life my life is incomplete. 
O sweeter self! like me, art thou, astray, 
Trying, like me, to find the way to mine; 
Trying, like me, to find the breast 
On which alone can weary heart find rest?" 



A POPULAR STANZA 

Boucicault settled upon this verse only after 
trying many others, and I believe it was orig- 
inal. One morning he handed me a copy of 
it, saying: "Try this; let us see how it goes." 
My reading of the lines caught his fancy, and 
they went; and I believe there never was a 
stanza of poetry that sprang into such instan- 
taneous popularity. Wherever one happened 
to go, or to be, one was quite sure to hear, 
"I have another life," etc. 

I was inundated with requests for auto- 
graphed copies. I believe, if an account- 
ing could be made, it would be found that 
these lines outnumber any other stanza of 
verse in the autograph albums of the country. 
Even to-day I am often asked for a copy of 
them. 

I must confess that I have never felt any 
admiration for the lines. I think them forced 
and artificial. But they have lived, and they 
will live when better verse is forgotten. 

In gossiping in this way about work done 
and undone at rehearsal, I am reminded of 
something that happened to a play at Wal- 

221 



ROSE EYTINGE 

lack's Theatre while I was there with Wallack 
and Davenport. 

There was cast and put into rehearsal a play 
called "Blow for Blow," written by Henry J. 
Byron, who at that time was very popular in 
London. Lester Wallack had seen the piece 
there, and had secured it for his theatre, ex- 
pecting that in New York it would repeat its 
London success. 

To Wallack, Davenport, and myself were 
assigned the leading parts. At the reading of 
the play we three were unanimous that there 
was nothing in it. Study and rehearsal of the 
parts served only to strengthen and crystallise 
this opinion, and we entered upon our work 
very half-heartedly. 

Lester W 7 allack, as was his custom, directed 
the rehearsals. Davenport, Wallack, and — 
I am bound to confess — myself also, would, 
sotto voce, interpolate between our lines divers 
remarks, editorial, critical, and slighting, re- 
garding the play, and we enjoyed our own 
comedy much more than the author's. 

Wallack, who had a rare sense of humour 
and a ready wit, often had great difficulty in 

222 



LEVITY REBUKED 

repressing his desire to laugh; and once or 
twice we were too much for him, and he would, 
sorely against his will, join in our merriment; 
but he would instantly recover himself, "pull 
himself together," call everybody to order, and 
continue the rehearsal with renewed rigour and 
severity. Sometimes he would sternly rebuke 
us for this levity in business, and remind us 
of the bad example which we were setting the 
rest of the company; and once or twice he fell 
into a positive rage, and spoke very sharply of 
our neglect of duty. 

During a week or ten days of continuous 
rehearsals this state of things continued, when 
one morning, after a repetition of one of these 
interludes, Lester gave some order in a low 
tone to the call-boy, who went to each of us in 
turn, collected the parts, and laid them on the 
prompt-table. 

Lester, with great deliberation, made a neat 
parcel of the manuscript and parts, tied it up, 
and, putting it under his arm, lifted his hat, 
and bidding us a ceremonious good-morning 
marched off the stage and out of the theatre, 
leaving everybody present, but especially we 
223 



ROSE EYTINGE 

three culprits, looking blankly at each other. 
We never heard of "Blow for Blow" again. 

But to return to the Union Square Theatre 
and "Led Astray." 

Charles Thorne was genial, witty, and amus- 
ing; but he could give a joke in better spirit 
than he could take one, and because of this, 
and for other reasons, he and I had many a 
tilt. 

One of these was occasioned by his address- 
ing me by my Christian name. Now,, while 
I have a great liking to be addressed without the 
conventional "Miss" or "Mrs.," familiarity 
of personal address with the Christian name 
only, except among members of a family or 
very close friends, has always been distasteful 
to me. So, taking Thorne aside, I mentioned 
my feeling in the matter, and begged him to 
avoid a repetition of the offence. 

He took great umbrage at this, and blustered 
out, "Oh, very well! If you are so mighty 
particular, I won't speak to you at all!" I, 
being quite as peppery as he was, retorted, 
"Just as you please." And so for about six 
224 



CHARLES THORNE 

weeks, though we acted together, we never 
spoke to each other in our own persons. 

One night, as I entered the greenroom, 
Thorne, who was already there, said to me, 
"How do you do, Mrs. Siddons?" Whereupon 
I replied, "Quite well, thank you, John Philip 
Kemble.' , He glanced at me, and a smile 
peeped out from behind a scowl, and, walking 
over to me, he held out his hand and said, "Rose 
Eytinge, shake!" I "shook," and peace was 
restored between us. 

Notwithstanding the great success I achieved 
as Armande Chandoce, I never had any liking 
or respect for her, especially objecting to a 
speech which she had in the last act. It was 
so replete with "sweetness and light," and 
breathed such a spirit of humility and submis- 
sion, that I found it rather insipid. 

One night, on my saying something about 
this, Thorne said, "If you object so much to 
that speech, let us hear to-night what you 
would like to say." Nothing daunted, I re- 
plied, "I will," and when I got my "cue" I did. 
I concluded a speech which in sentiment was 
exactly the opposite of the author's idea with 
225 



ROSE EYTINGE 

these words, "And remember, dear, while you 
may feel that you owe much to your husband, 
you must always remember that you owe some- 
thing to yourself." 

For once, Thorne, who was given to doing 
and saying all sorts of irrelevancies, was beaten 
at his own game; and he was taken so com- 
pletely by surprise that it was with the greatest 
difficulty that he recovered himself and took 
up the scene. 

You may be sure that when the curtain fell 
I made excellent time to my dressing-room. 

I have no word of excuse or extenuation to 
offer for my conduct. I have only to acknowl- 
edge that I richly deserved the "talk" that Mr. 
Palmer afterward bestowed upon me. 

It was an unusual thing for Mr. Palmer to 
interfere in any way with the work on the stage; 
he had surrounded himself with a company 
in whose work both he and the public had the 
fullest confidence, and he let them alone. 
Occasionally, however, some one or other of 
us had to be "pulled up" for carelessness, and 
that one was very likely to be myself. 

226 



DION BOUCICAULT 

In "Led Astray," six months are supposed to 
elapse between the first and second acts. One 
night — I suppose I was feeling ill, or tired — 
I omitted to change my costume between these 
acts. At the close of the act Mr. Palmer met 
me, quite as if by accident. He stopped me 
for a moment's chat, and then said suavely, 
and as if he were paying me a compliment, 
"That is such a charming costume, and it 
wears so well too! Why, you have worn it 
six months." 

I do not remember to have seen Dion Bouci- 
cault behind the scenes or on the stage during 
the long run of his play. The last rehearsal 
and the first performance were both so satis- 
factory that there was none of that cutting out, 
pulling together, and smoothing of rough places 
usually found necessary. But I remember 
with pleasure that on the hundredth perform- 
ance he sent me a gracious letter of thanks for 
my work, accompanying it with a beautiful 
and valuable bracelet. 

I think it was while we were playing "Led 
227 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Astray" that Thorne had some difference of 
opinion with a brother actor relative to some 
business during the scene upon which the 
curtain had just fallen. The argument wax- 
ing warm, Mrs. Marie Wilkins rushed between 
the belligerents and attempted to soothe their 
excitement. 

Now Marie Wilkins presented a fine, broad 
front; she was one of those women of whom 
it has been aptly said that their figures were 
"not lost, but gone before," and, Thorne be- 
coming momentarily more tumultuous, his 
adversary prudently took refuge behind Mrs. 
Wilkins and continued the quarrel over her 
shoulder. Whereupon some one remarked that 
he had sought sanctuary behind the bulwarks 
of old England. 

I could chat about "Led Astray" and the 
happenings among the men and women who 
played in it almost indefinitely, for they formed 
a very interesting group. But the affairs of 
a company which is thrown together for a long 
time, as was this, are like those of a family, and, 
as is the case with the doings of a family, they 
228 



STAGE AFFAIRS 

would not interest the general public. We had 
our friendships and our feuds, our confidences 
and our cabals, our tricks and our jokes, our 
quarrels and our makings up. 



229 



CHAPTER XXVIII 

"the two orphans" — "the lady of lyons" — george 
rignold — "rose michel" — steele mackaye — 
john parselle and charles thorne — tom taylor 

If my memory serves me, the next important 
production that followed "Led Astray" at the 
Union Square Theatre was "The Two Or- 
phans." As this play contains two leading- 
woman parts, Henriette and Louise, and as I 
was the leading woman of the theatre, I could 
not see my way to appearing in the play. 

My decision caused Mr. Palmer a good deal 
of chagrin, and many talks between us resulted 
therefrom. At last a compromise was reached. 
I consented to play Marianne for the first fort- 
night, that the cast might have the strength of 
my name. 

The play ran for six months, and for the 
whole of that period I walked about, drawing 
my salary, and doing nothing. This was not 

230 



"THE LADY OF LYONS" 

necessary, for I was quite willing to take a 
vacation and fill my time with other enterprises, 
but Mr. Palmer persistently declined to enter- 
tain any proposal to release me from his com- 
pany. 

One offer that I received was particularly 
tempting. Lester Wallack wanted to produce 
"Lady Clancarty," and to engage me to play 
the title-role. He opened negotiations to ob- 
tain my services, but 

I do not remember having taken part in any 
performance during that time, save one, when 
A. M. Palmer, my manager, and Harry Palmer, 
George Rignold's manager, joined in giving 
a double-star holiday performance of "The 
Lady of Lyons." I played Pauline, and Rig- 
nold Claude. The occasion was a Thanks- 
giving, and the place the Academy of Music, 
Brooklyn. 

On the night of the performance I went to 
the dressing-room on the stage, the one which 
I had occupied on every previous occasion 
when I had played at that house. I found Mr. 
Rignold's servant in possession. Feeling quite 
231 



ROSE EYTINGE 

sure that this was through some mistake on the 
part of the man, I sent to Mr. Rignold to 
inquire. My surmise was correct, and Mr. 
Rignold promptly placed the dressing-room at 
my disposal. 

But when I next saw Charles Thorne I was 
overwhelmed with the assurances of his admira- 
tion and approval for the stand which I had 
taken in forcibly ejecting the burly British 
Thespian from his stronghold in the disputed 
dressing-room, — whether at the point of the 
sword or with a broom, I was not informed. 

In vain I protested that nothing of the sort 
had occurred. Thorne had his own version 
of the circumstance, which had really been no 
circumstance at all. But it was a good story, 
and I was covered with partisan and patriotic 
glory which I in no way merited. 

About this time I decided to go on a starring 
tour in preference to remaining longer at the 
Union Square ; but Mr. Palmer was very averse 
to my withdrawing from his theatre, and, as 
an inducement for me to remain, he offered 
to secure a piece in which I should play the 

232 



JOHN PARSELLE 

title-role, and which, at the end of its New York 
run, I could use as a vehicle in starring. 

After a good deal of difficulty and delay, 
"Rose Michel' ' was settled upon. The next 
step was to obtain a good translation and 
adaptation of the play. Several versions were 
made, but not approved, until at last Steele 
Mackaye essayed the work, and his version 
was accepted. 

Then began the rehearsals. Steele Mackaye 
conducted them. Thorne played the young 
hero, the Count de Vernay, and John Parseile 
played the Baron de Marsan. 

Parseile was a very valuable actor, but by 
no means a brilliant one. He was a handsome 
old man, with a fine manner and a dignified 
bearing, and he had an excellent quality in 
an actor, — a knack of wearing the costume 
of the period of any play in which he might 
be cast, as if he had worn that particular style 
of dress all his life. The stately garments of 
the period of Louis XV suited him admirably, 
and he presented a most picturesque and dig- 
nified picture. He had passed his novitiate 
in the theatres of London and Edinburgh, and 
233 



ROSE EYTINGE 

had the additional advantage of being thorough- 
ly familiar with the French stage. He was a 
great stickler for the etiquette of the stage, and 
for a strict adherence to its traditions. 

Thorne was a social aiid dramatic iconoclast, 
and he had no respect for either etiquette or 
tradition. His great scene occurred in the 
third act, — indeed the scene had been written 
especially for him, — and in its setting there 
appeared a small desk and one particular chair, 
which were used by Thorne. 

Although Parselle did not use either of these 
articles of furniture, he argued that their place 
on the stage had a very important bearing on 
his "business" in the scene. Morning after 
morning, at precisely the same juncture, there 
would occur between Thorne and Parselle, 
with many and various changes of language, 
precisely the same argument. Thorne would 
have the chair here; Parselle would have it 
there. Each would claim, from his own stand- 
point, that his was the only just demand. As 
Thorne grew warm, Parselle grew cool, and I 
cannot recall that the burning question was ever 
settled. Up to the very first performance, and 
234 



STEELE MACKAYE 

even after, the quarrel was resumed nightly, 
with no perceptible result that I ever discovered, 
except to afford me many a sly smile. 

The rehearsals of "Rose Michel" were more 
heavy and serious than had been those of "Led 
Astray," and as Dion Boucicault had directed 
the rehearsals of the latter play, so Steele Mack- 
aye directed those of the former. 

Steele Mackaye was a man of extraordinary 
and exceptional brilliancy, and among the 
multiplicity of subjects to which he had given 
attention, the drama held a leading place. 
He was a master of all dramatic work, and, as 
an ardent disciple of Delsarte it was he who 
introduced the Delsarte system into the United 
States. He thoroughly understood the art of 
acting, but he could not act. 

This fact was demonstrated many times; as 
a matter of fact it was very clearly manifested 
every time he went upon the stage; but I am 
convinced that it was a fact of which he him- 
self had no suspicion, and, although failure 
inevitably followed his every attempt to act, 
I do not believe that he ever for one moment 

2 35 



ROSE EYTINGE 

attributed those misfortunes to his own ineffec- 
tive work. 

One of the most signal of these failures was 
his endeavour in London, to play the leading 
part in Tom Taylor's drama of "Arkright's 
Wife." 

Tom Taylor and Steele Mackaye were warm 
friends, and Taylor was greatly pleased when 
negotiations were completed which brought 
about this result. Now, at last, Taylor was 
about to enjoy the satisfaction, so dear to the 
dramatist, of seeing all his ideas realised and 
carried out to the very minutest detail. 

The first performance found Taylor early 
in his place in the stalls, eager with anticipative 
delight. Mackaye began his work. As the 
first act proceeded, Taylor's face began to 
lengthen, and he projected himself farther and 
farther forward in his chair, quite oblivious of 
the backward glances of annoyance that were 
being flashed at him by the occupant of the 
stall immediately in front of him. 

The longer Mackaye went on, the deeper and 
darker grew Taylor's vexation and disappoint- 
ment ; and the more vexed he became, the more 

236 



MACKAYE'S STAGE DIRECTION 

unconsciously he flung himself forward, until 
he was seen to be merely hanging on to the 
back of the chair in front of him, and was heard 
to mutter in gruesome, grinding tones: "Idiot! 
Idiot! purblind, doddering idiot!" 

But while it must be confessed that Steele 
Mackaye could not act himself, he knew all 
about acting, and his stage direction was most 
masterly. He was very nervous and excitable. 
So was I. I had made a close study of the part 
of Rose Michel; in fact I had devoted myself 
to it so closely that I became in a way perme- 
ated with it. 

At some crucial moment in a scene Mackaye 
would interrupt me, a circumstance which for 
the time would chill my enthusiasm and paral- 
yse my efforts. While we were both, of course, 
working up to one end, we were, of necessity, 
working on parallel lines, and therefore it was 
not possible for us to meet at any point. This 
condition of things led to friction between us 
many times. There came a day when a crisis 
was reached. I laid the part upon the prompt- 
table, and, telling Mackaye that as it was im- 
possible for both of us to play the part, and he 

237 



ROSE EYTINGE 

did not seem willing to permit me to perform 
it, I thought it would be better that he should 
play it himself, — and so marched off the stage. 

Before I had time to leave the theatre I was 
"headed off" by my managers, Messrs. Shook 
& Palmer. Mackaye was sent for, and we 
four had a "pow-wow." The result of it was 
that Mackaye bound himself not to interrupt 
the rehearsals with corrections or suggestions 
to me, but to make notes of anything in my 
work of which he did not approve, and submit 
them to me afterward, when I was to accept 
them, or give him good and sufficient reasons for 
not doing so. 

This arrangement was strictly adhered to, 
but, greatly to my surprise, there were no notes, 
and the rehearsals proceeded rapidly and 
smoothly. 

The night of the first performance I was 
greatly wrought up. Mackaye was in a stage- 
box. I knew that I played Rose Michel well. 
There were too many persons who said so then, 
and who have said so since, for there to be 
any doubt about the matter; but I also know 
that I never played the part so well as I did 

23 8 



STEELE MACKAYE'S NATURE 

at that first performance. But Steele Mack- 
aye's was the first individual voice which 
poured into my eagerly listening ears the liba- 
tion of praise for which my soul was thirsting. 
At the close of the second act, after I had 
said "Thank you" many times to my great 
body of friends in front, as I left the stage I 
found him awaiting me in the entrance. There 
he stood, — 

— "all his visage wanned, 
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect, 
A broken voice," — 

and with both hands held out to me he said: 
"Can you ever forgive me for ever having pre- 
sumed to offer you a suggestion?" 

I tell this incident, not in order that I may 
vindicate my claim to a better understanding 
of the character of Rose Michel than his had 
been, but as a tribute to the nobility and gen- 
erosity of Steele Mackaye's nature. 

That same night I received another testi- 
monial to the worth of my performance, but of 
quite a different sort. The third act of "Rose 
Michel" is the Count de Vemay's. As a mat- 

239 



ROSE EYTINGE 

ter of fact it was arranged to placate Thorne 
and to give him an opportunity for a strong 
scene as I have stated above. At first the in- 
tention was to leave me out of the act, an ar- 
rangement to which I gave my heartiest assent, 
for it would have given me time to rest, and 
"pull myself together" for the two last acts. 
Later, however, it was decided that I should 
appear in this act, but with very little to do; 
I was merely to come on for a brief scene at 
the beginning and be on for the curtain at the 
end. I saw a possibility for some very effec- 
tive work in this entrance, though I had nothing 
to say. I availed myself of this opportunity. 
At the end of the act Thorne looked gloomily 
at me, and said in rueful tones, "It's no use, 
she hogged the whole persimmon !" 



240 



CHAPTER XXIX 

STARRING — BUYING EXPERIENCE — THE WEST — BEN DE 
BAR — "BOB" MILES — MRS. JOHN DREW — THE LITH- 
OGRAPH QUESTION — A SANDWICH MAN 

At the close of the run of "Rose Michel" at 
the Union Square Theatre — it lasted about 
half a year — I went starring with the piece, 
and never did wight embark upon an enter- 
prise worse equipped and less fitted to carry it 
to successful issue than was I. I am sorry to 
be obliged to confess that I am — always have 
been, and, I fear, always will be — a very poor 
business woman. I know nothing of figures 
but figures of speech. 

With the exception of some intermittent 
weeks some years previously, I had had no 
experience of starring, and at that time I had 
not been called upon to look after any details 
of the business. Augustin Daly, then himself 
a young manager, had always taken entire 
charge of the business. All that I had ever 
been called upon to do was to go to, at the ap- 
pointed time, the city and the theatre in which 
241 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the engagement was to be played, rehearse the 
piece with the regular stock company, play my 
own part, and at the close of the engagement 
receive from Mr. Daly a nice little pot of money. 

Therefore in this, my first independent busi- 
ness, and one in which I was thrown entirely 
upon myself, I was victimised on every hand, 
and by nearly every one with whom my busi- 
ness relations brought me in contact. I had 
about me only strangers, and they were all 
far too busy looking out for opportunities to 
advance their own interests to devote any time 
or thought to mine. I was so entirely ignorant 
of all the details of starring that I did not even 
know what percentages I had a right to de- 
mand, and so I went groping and stumbling on, 
buying my experience, and paying for it at a 
pretty high figure. 

Notwithstanding all these crippling circum- 
stances, however, my tour with "Rose Michel" 
was very successful in both an artistic and a 
pecuniary sense. At the end of the season I 
was not only many thousands of dollars richer 
in money, but far, far richer in recognition of 
artistic merit and in admirers of my work. I 

242 



STARRING 

was pleased, too, with the opportunity afforded 
rne by my travelling, of seeing my own country. 
Up to this time I had never been farther West 
than Buffalo and Canada, and the bustling, 
rushing, hurrying cities and towns of the great 
West filled me with wonder and admiration, — 
a wonder and an admiration that have increased 
with years and experience. Since that first 
Western journey I have crossed the Atlantic 
many times and have lived in Europe, but my 
experience of other lands has only increased 
my patriotic love of my own, and I always feel 
thankful for the inestimable boon of being an 
American woman. 

During this my first starring season I met a 
few of the old representative actor-managers. 
One of these was Ben De Bar, then managing 
his own theatre in St. Louis. Both poor De 
Bar and his theatre were at this time falling 
somewhat into desuetude, and but for the 
energy infused into the business by John Nor- 
ton, who was at this time De Bar's stage-mana- 
ger, things would have gone ill indeed with 
both theatre and visiting stars. 

243 



ROSE EYTINGE 

The stock company was extremely poor, and 
when, in a talk with De Bar, in the course of 
which I was pretty severe in my criticism of 
some of its members, the old man scratched his 
head, looked ruefully at me, and said: "Well, 
what is a manager to do? Somebody must 
have these people." I learned the secret of the 
downfall of De Bar's Theatre and the dissipa- 
tion of its owner's fortunes. He allowed his 
heart to rule his head. 

Another old-time manager whom I met 
during that season was R. E. G. Miles, better 
known as "Bob" Miles, of Cincinnati. He, 
too, was a great-hearted, genial, good-tempered 
man, the friend of his actors; indeed, in those 
days of the actor-manager there was a free- 
masonry of friendship and comradeship be- 
tween manager and company which would 
be impossible to find in these days of syndicate 
and speculator. 

During this season, and for several following 

seasons, I played at the Arch Street Theatre, 

Philadelphia, under the management of Mrs. 

John Drew. It was, without exception, the 

244 



THE LITHOGRAPH QUESTION 

best-conducted, cleanest, most orderly and 
most all-around comfortable theatre that I ever 
acted in. Of Mrs. Drew herself, eulogy from 
me is not necessary. She was a woman whom 
it was an honour for a fellow-woman to call a 
friend. 

It was during an engagement at Mrs. John 
Drew's theatre that I was brought face to face 
with the lithograph question. The stage en- 
trance was, as is the case with the majority of 
theatres, up a dark and more or less noisome 
alley, on which opened the side entrance to a 
drinking-place. As I was passing up this alley- 
way the first evening of my engagement, I was 
greeted by the sight of my pictured face looking 
down upon me from the window of the afore- 
said "shebeen." Filled with indignation and 
disgust, I at once sent for my business manager. 
He had not yet arrived. Some one about the 
theatre mentioned to Mrs. Drew that I was 
evidently much disturbed about something, 
and she came to my dressing-room to inquire 
about the matter. On being told, she drew 
her chair in front of me, sat down, looked at 
me with her calm, quizzical expression, and 
245 



ROSE EYTINGE 

said: "My dear, don't be a fool; we will all be 
obliged to come to it, and God knows where 
we will next see ourselves pictured. But wher- 
ever it may be, we will have to submit." 

I remember with much pleasure the produc- 
tion of "Rose Michel" as arranged by Mrs. 
Drew at her theatre. The third act of the 
piece represents the salon of a ducal chateau 
of the period of Louis XV. The hangings of 
the scenes and the covering of the various 
couches, divans, and chairs were of pale blue, 
covered with white lace. Every article of 
furniture was of white and gold, and strictly 
correct as to period. And I may mention, 
as an evidence of her excellent management, 
that all this furniture was made in the property- 
room of the theatre, and the apparently rich 
lace used for the hangings was picked out from 
old lace curtains that from time to time had 
been retired from active service. 

On more than one occasion I found that 
being a star and at the head of one's own com- 
pany carried with it many cares, responsibili- 

246 



THE SANDWICH MAN 

ties, and annoyances that made life much 
harder than it was to be a member of a well- 
ordered, regular stock company in a metropol- 
itan theatre. 

But it was not all work and no play. Indeed 
it would go hard with me if I could not find 
occasional oases of fun while threading my way 
through the desert of daily work. 

One night, during a most touching scene 
between Rose Michel and her young daughter, 
a scene in which both audience and myself 
usually mingled our tears, I was from time to 
time disturbed, and greatly surprised, to find 
myself interrupted by ripples of laughter, 
Holding myself as well in hand as w T as possible, 
I tried to continue the scene, but a pretty simul- 
taneous peal of laughter, a little louder than 
any which had preceded it, sent me all to pieces. 
I raised my eyes and looked into the audience 
to try to discover the cause of this ill-timed 
mirth. I found it. Sitting conspicuously in 
the middle of the orchestra was a redundantly 
stout person, who for his greater ease had re- 
moved his coat and waistcoat. He, at least, 
was paying full tribute to the pathos of the 
247 



ROSE EYTINGE 

scene; his face was a picture of woe, great 
tears were rolling down his cheeks, and they 
fell where they listed, for both his hands were 
occupied holding an immense sandwich, which 
at frequent intervals he lifted to his mouth. 
As he helped himself to a huge bite, it would 
have been difficult to decide which he enjoyed 
most, — his sorrow or his sandwich. Need I 
say that my sorrow was for the time quite for- 
gotten ? — and I joined in the general mirth, and 
the scene was brought to an abrupt conclusion. 

I remember at this moment a thing which 
my business manager told me, showing a rather 
quaint form for admiration to take. After the 
manner of business managers he was standing 
in the "front" as the audience filed out after 
a matinee, and overheard this bit of dialogue: 

Mother (an old lady). — I never want to see that ac- 
tress, Rose Eytinge, again. 

Daughter (an elderly woman). — Why, mother, you 
said you liked her. 

Mother. — I do! I love her. She is a great actress. 
But I've got trouble enough at home. 



248 



CHAPTER XXX 

THE CALIFORNIA THEATRE, SAN FRANCISCO — JOHN MC- 
CULLOUGH — JULIA— LADY MA CBETH—CAMILLE—lM^Ci 
ANDERSON — " EAST LYNNE" 

At the close of my regular season I conceived 
a rather wild scheme to play "across country." 
I was under engagement to play a four weeks' 
starring engagement at the California Theatre, 
San Francisco, under the management of John 
McCullough, opening, if I remember rightly, 
in August. My supporting company was to 
continue with me to some point west of the 
Mississippi River, after which I was to pro- 
ceed alone to San Francisco, breaking my 
journey with a two weeks' engagement at Salt 
Lake City. 

My four weeks in San Francisco was a de- 
lightful experience in every particular. The 
theatre was as nearly perfect as it is possible 
to imagine, equipped with everything in scen- 
ery, properties, wardrobe, etc., that the most 

249 



ROSE EYTINGE 

exacting star could demand, and I can say with 
truth that I was by no means an exacting star. 
The company was of exceptional brilliancy as 
to ability, and most complete in numbers. 

During those four weeks I played several 
important parts for the first time, among them 
being Julia in "The Hunchback," and Lady 
Macbeth. Of Julia, as I played it, I remember 
John McCullough was greatly enamoured, and 
on this occasion, breaking through his rule not 
to support any woman star, he played Sir 
Thomas Clifford. He pronounced Julia my 
best part. (Lester Wallack had thus commend- 
ed my Juliana, in the comedy of "The Honey- 
moon.") 

The night I played Lady Macbeth for the 
first time I was very nervous; indeed, I had a 
pretty severe attack of stage fright, and I had 
so little confidence in my own memory that in 
the banquet scene I had a young member of 
the company ensconced behind my throne- 
chair, armed with a book of the play, prepared 
to give me the word if I needed it. 

Camille was another part which I played 
for the first time during this engagement, and 
250 




ROSE EYTIXGE 



"EAST LYNNE" 

each performance was more easy and pleasant 
than the last. 

My four weeks' work at the regular starring 
terms of the theatre netted me many thousands 
of dollars, and at its close I stopped in San 
Francisco long enough to form a company with 
which to go to Virginia City. 

This brief stay led to my playing Lady Isabel 
in "East Lynne" for the first time. It happened 
this way : Mary Anderson, then slowly emerging 
from her chrysalis stage of amateur, was to 
follow me, being booked for a two weeks' en- 
gagement. If I remember aright, she opened 
with Juliet, following, I think, with Evadne. 
But after two or three performances she fell 
ill, and her engagement was brought to an abrupt 
conclusion. 

In those days San Francisco was not the 
theatrical centre it has since grown to be, and 
this disarrangement of dates meant a "dark 
house" for about ten nights. In this dilemma 
McCullough suggested to me a week's re-en- 
gagement, which I declined. He then urged 
me to play one night, and suggested "East 
Lynne" as the bill. When I told him I knew 
251 



ROSE EYTINGE 

nothing of the piece, had never even seen it 
(a perfectly true statement), he promptly and 
sternly refused to credit so altogether improbable 
a statement, and the position taken by Mc- 
Cullough was held by every member of the 
company. When I repeated, with every form 
of emphasis at my command, that I had never 
seen "East Lynne," they jeered at me and 
laughed me out of court. 

So, despite my protests, the announcements 
were made that "in compliance with a universal 
request" I would play Lady Isabel. But now 
a veritable crisis arose. We could not find a 
book of the piece. While every member of 
the company "knew the piece backward," it 
was very soon learned that none of them knew 
it forward, and there was nothing for me to do 
but to "vamp" the part as well as I could; and 
when I turned reproachfully to McCullough 
and appealed for sympathy and help, he said, 
with a fine appearance of confidence, "O, 
that'll be all right ; just sob, and look sorry, and 
it will go." 

Thomas Keene played Archibald Carlisle, 
and from scene to scene he would, in language 
252 



STAGE INSTRUCTION 

more direct than didactic, instruct me as to the 
particular form of emotion that was supposed 
to hold Isabel in its thrall, as, "Now she's a 
jealous cat"; "Now she's kitteny"; "Now 
she's sorry she was such a fool, and 'gets back' 
at the other fellow" ; "Now she wants her young 
ones"; and "Now she ups and dies." And 
from such instruction, more or less fully elab- 
orated, I played Lady Isabel to a crowded house, 
which exhibited every indication of satisfac- 
tion at the performance, and I received from 
McCullough a clear half of the receipts and 
much praise. 

I have assumed the character occasionally 
since, and to my shame I confess that I have 
never succeeded in playing it letter-perfect. 
I remember performing it once under the man- 
agement of William Henderson, who was one 
of our old representative actor-managers. Af- 
ter the performance Mr. Henderson came to 
my dressing-room for a chat. I felt a little 
uneasy as to what he might have to say about 
my version of the piece, but to my great sur- 
prise and corresponding relief he expressed 
very great pleasure at my performance. After 
253 



ROSE EYTINGE 

a thoughtful pause he said: "What strikes me 
with surprise is, when you give so fine a per- 
formance of the part, that you never took the 
trouble to study the lines." 



254 



CHAPTER XXXI 

VIRGINIA CITY AN AUDIENCE OF MINERS — A MIDNIGHT 

RIDE WITH A GUARD OF HONOUR — DOWN IN A SILVER 
MINE 

At the close of my engagement at the California 
Theatre, San Francisco, I went to Virginia City, 
Nevada, taking with me a company which was 
largely selected from members of the stock 
company of the California Theatre, Mr. Mc- 
Cullough being willing that they should go, and 
they wishing to do so. 

Oh, that Virginia City! It was then a mere 
mining-camp, consisting of one long street 
levelled out from the "mountain-side. The 
houses which lined this thoroughfare closely 
on either side were of wood and one story high. 
They were all glass-fronted business houses, 
and the business to which a heavy majority 
of them appeared to be devoted was the sale 
of liquor. Indeed, the population of the town 
seemed to take most of its nourishment in 
liquid form, for of more simple and solid sorts 

255 



ROSE EYTINGE 

of food there was little or none exposed for sale. 
The business of the town also seemed to in- 
clude the public playing of all sorts of games 
of chance. As one passed along it was common 
to see in these places — for the doors were all 
wide open — great piles of gold and silver, 
sometimes in coin, often in its crude state, 
heaped up on the small tables with which the 
places were filled, and around which could be 
found seated, at all hours of the day and night, 
all sorts and conditions of men, playing, play- 
ing, playing. 

The hotel was most primitive in its arrange- 
ments, the theatre more so. But the spirit of 
Midas might have presided over the place, for 
everywhere there was gold. Nevertheless the 
men of that rude mountain mining-camp could 
have taught their brothers in the capitals of 
the world the fine art of chivalrous, courtly, 
respectful bearing to women. 

The distance between the hotel and the 
theatre measured not more than one of our 
city blocks. Along and up and down this 
little line of street, on my way to and from 
performances and rehearsals, I passed many 

256 



AN AUDIENCE OF MINERS 

times, and at any time from midday to midnight, 
and that same little journey was always marked 
by the reverent courtesy that might have been 
bestowed upon a queen on her progress to her 
coronation. If, as was the common custom, 
a group of smoking, spitting, swearing men 
rilled the small sidewalk, at my approach every 
pipe and cigar was for the moment relieved from 
active service. Every man uncovered, and in 
a pause of respectful silence I passed through 
a line of men, every one of whom was, I know, 
my faithful adherent. 

Of this faithful adherence I had, during my 
brief stay among them, more than one proof. 
For instance, one night there was a disturbance 
in the audience which momentarily interrupted 
the performance during one of my good scenes. 
My business manager was in front, and a man 
standing beside him took from his belt, which 
formed no small armament, a revolver, and of- 
fered it to my manager, saying, " Pepper the 
! how dare he interrupt the lady!" 

At the time I write of there was but one 
daily train between New York and San Fran- 
cisco. The train going east passed through 
257 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Reno — which lay at the foot of the mountain — 
at some wretched hour about dawn. Virginia 
City was at, or nearly at, the mountain top, 
and was reached by a single-track railroad, 
which also ran one train either way once in 
every twenty-four hours. The usual thing for 
travellers going east from Virginia City was to 
take this train in the evening, reach Reno, 
distant about twenty-four or twenty-five miles, 
in a couple of hours, spend the night at the 
" hotel" at Reno, and be ready to board the 
east-bound train as it passed through in the 
morning. This train did not run Sundays; 
therefore, in the ordinary course of things, 
my engagement closing Saturday night, I would 
be obliged to remain all Sunday in Virginia 
City, and not catch the eastern train until 
Monday morning. 

This loss of time was peculiarly distressing, 
as time just then was of great value to me. 
On enquiry I discovered that the mine-owners 
were in the habit of sending trains of pack- 
mules, loaded with panniers of ore, down the 
mountain. So down that mountain-side I 
determined to go on Saturday night after the 

258 



A MIDNIGHT RIDE 

close of my last performance, and be in Reno 
in time to catch my train Sunday morning in- 
stead of Monday, thus saving twenty-four hours. 
It was necessary to be very secret in my prep- 
arations, since the patrons of the theatre, who 
represented about the entire population of the 
town, were very jealous of their rights and 
would have resented very bitterly any cutting 
of the performance. But everything worked 
admirably. Tickets for my business manager 
and myself were secured for the Saturday 
evening train, and all my trunks went down 
on that, except the one containing my wardrobe 
for Saturday night. A phaeton with a fine 
pair of horses and a driver who knew the road 
were engaged, and at about midnight we started. 
I had with me a goodly amount of diamonds, and 
I had also my week's receipts in gold and silver 
in bags. The night was dark, but we were 
provided with a lantern. The driver, with a 
Winchester rifle across his knees, sat in front; 
my business manager and I on the back seat, 
our treasure at our feet, and loaded revolvers 
in our hands. The cool, solemn silence, after 
the garish light and rude revelry we had left 
259 



ROSE EYTINGE 

behind, penetrated one's soul. Of fear I had 
not one impulse ; the only feeling I experienced 
was one of peace, of perfect rest. Not a sound 
disturbed the air except the occasional cry of 
some night-bird, or some four-footed denizen 
of the sage-brush. Occasionally, however, a 
solitary figure would loom up out of the dark- 
ness and disappear. In the cool, clear dawn we 
reached Reno, and were soon whirling toward 
the East. 

At a little station a few miles from Reno I 
received a touching and convincing proof of 
the loyalty of the friends I had made in Virginia 
City. A letter was handed to me, bidding me 
good-bye and expressing every good wish, and 
signed 

"The Boys Who Patrolled Your Ride 
to Reno." 

That explained the presence of the shadowy 
figures I had from time to time seen loom up 
through the darkness. 

While I was in Virginia City my courage was 
260 



DOWN IN A SILVER MINE 

submitted to a severe test. The great "Cali- 
fornia and Ophir Mine" (I think it was called) 
was in full operation, yielding almost fabulous 
amounts of ore. Archibald Boland, familiarly 
known as "Archie" Boland, was the super- 
intendent of the mine; and one of the many 
courtesies which he extended to me was an in- 
vitation to go down the mine. What with long 
rehearsals and the many demands upon my time 
I found that I could not manage this excursion 
during the day. So it was decided that the 
descent should be made some night after the 
performance. 

It was a glorious moonlight night when — 
in a man's oil-skin suit — I stepped into the 
cage. As we descended, and the bright moon, 
the blue sky, and the shadowed earth passed 
from my gaze, I had a curious sensation, a 
mingling of curiosity as to when, if ever, I 
should see those things again. Or if not, what 
should I see in their stead? Of fear I had 
none. Mr. Boland accompanied me, and — as 
I thought, at the time, unnecessarily — held 
my two wrists. He afterward told me that 
his object in doing this was to note the action 

261 



ROSE EYTINGE 

of my pulse, to see if it would quicken or flutter 
with fear, but it remained perfectly steady. 

I cannot say that I found the visit very in- 
teresting. We went to the level which they 
were then working, some 2,000 feet below the 
surface of the town, and we saw silver, silver, 
silver, everywhere silver; and everywhere men 
in more or less savage undress working, and 
darkness and noise, and great beams overhead 
propping up the walls of silver. Hot, dusty, 
thirsty, tired, we again mounted the cage and 
reached the earth, the dear, old, familiar earth, 
with the blue sky over our head and the moon 
sailing gloriously. And oh! it was a fine sight, 
— finer than all the silver that ever was dug 
out of the earth. 



262 



CHAPTER XXXII 

RENO — A WESTERN HOTEL — THE RENO THEATRE — 
PURIFICATION 

On one of my Western tours I received an 
urgent letter from the proprietor of the theatre 
in Reno to stop a few days in that town and 
give a performance. As I had passed through 
the town several times I did not feel any special 
inclination to accept this proposition, for a more 
unpromising spot for any form of art to flourish 
could not well be imagined. 

It was an arid, sandy plain, walled in by 
mountains, treeless, even shrubless. The white 
heat of the sun beat down upon white sand. 
Dotted about at irregular intervals were un- 
sightly little one-story buildings that looked 
as if their projectors had begun to erect them, 
but, on taking time to look about them and 
observe their environments, had fled in horror 
and haste, lest some impelling influence should 
induce them to stop and occupy them. 

263 



ROSE EYTINGE 

Straight through this strip of plain ran the 
lines of iron rail, flanked by a rude platform 
and the various sheds pertaining to the business 
of the railroad, and on a line with it and close 
to the track, ingeniously arranged so that the 
sad sojourner, who might by adverse circum- 
stances be compelled to stop in it, might not 
be spared a single clang of the bell, a toot of 
the whistle, or a grain of dust, smoke or cinders, 
stood the "hotel." 

This had grown to the dignity of two stories. 
It was a glaring-white, square, wooden shed, 
with innumerable shutterless windows piercing 
it on every side. Nothing could be more un- 
promising of rest or comfort than the exterior 
of this building, unless it was its interior. 

Of anything in the slightest degree like a 
theatre, hall, or lyceum, or of anything that 
held out hopes of entertainment or intellectual 
relaxation in any form, there was nothing 
visible. 

With this picture fixed in my mental vision 

I hesitated to close with the offer of a brief 

engagement at Reno. But in the end greed 

prevailed. I believe the terms I asked were 

264 



THE RENO THEATRE 

the entire receipts and my fare out of the town, 
or something just about as reasonable. 

I forget where my supporting company was 
to come from, but, as I recollect their work, 
they ought to have been returned to the spot 
from whence they came, and never to have been 
permitted to leave it. 

Well, I went to Reno to play one night. The 
first thing to do was to see the theatre. I went 
forth in search of it, and it was promptly pointed 
out. It was a long, narrow, unpainted wooden 
barn with a wide double door at one end, and 
another barn tacked onto it at right angles, the 
first being the auditorium, the second the stage. 

When I first saw this structure it was bare 
and empty, — empty, that is, save for an odour. 
Oh! such an odour. The combined essences 
of Cologne (the town, not the perfume), the 
bay of Naples, the Roman Ghetto, the — the 

any, any malodorous spot that can be 

remembered or imagined, cannot convey the 
faintest idea of what that odour was. 

After the first overpowering moment, when, 
I confess, I fled before it, I pursued my inves- 
tigation with the spirit of the explorer and 

265 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the pioneer, determined to pursue that odour 
to its source; for I knew that it and I could 
not both occupy that temple of art at the same 
time. 

By this time I found myself surrounded by 
a goodly escort of small boys, and I called 
loudly for the man in charge, the janitor. A 
chorus of voices came to my rescue ; they knew 
him, they would find him. Meantime we 
penetrated deeper and deeper into the build- 
ing, steadily approaching the odour and being 
guided by it. 

At the end of the auditorium we encountered 
three or four steps. These led up to the stage, 
our escort swarming up with us. Suddenly 
the air was rent with cries of triumph. The 
janitor was found. And when we found the 
janitor, we at the same time found the source 
of the odour. 

The guardian of this temple of the fine arts 
was a noble red man. He was seated in a large, 
comfortable, leather-covered arm-chair, look- 
ing, with its air of civilisation, as incongruous 
with its surroundings as its occupant did with 
it. 

266 



REMOVING A JANITOR 

My first act was to take steps to procure 
the removal of the janitor and his surroundings, 
which consisted of numerous tin cans — all 
empty; a high hat, much dilapidated, a pair 
of moccasins; a feather-duster that might have 
been intended to serve on festive occasions 
for a head-dress; and various other mysterious 
articles which perhaps were important details 
of a warrior's wardrobe. But his removal from 
his post, which he was vigorously guarding 
when we rudely interrupted him in the onerous 
discharge of his duty, was no easy matter. 

My self-appointed bodyguard sallied forth 
into the town, and in a very short time returned, 
reinforced by a committee of prominent citizens. 
It required much eloquence on their part, not 
wholly dissociated from more active measures, 
as blowing a horn in his ear, pulling his arm- 
chair from under him, and playing upon him 
other joyous pranks, to suggest to him the 
expediency of a change of base. But the most 
efficacious method was hit upon when every 
available door and window in the place was 
thrown open to admit floods of glorious sunshine 
and breaths of balmy air. At the first breath 

267 



ROSE EYTINGE 

of air that struck him he opened his eyes, 
shrank away from it, grunted his disapproval 
of such heroic measures, and, on looking about 
him and finding himself exposed on every hand 
to fresh air and sunshine, he reluctantly took 
his departure, followed by an enthusiastic if 
not sympathetic train of followers bearing his 
belongings. 

The next step was to examine the dressing- 
rooms. At one end of the barn which repre- 
sented the theatre there was a door on which 
was scrawled "Star." This, on examination, 
proved to be fully occupied: one half by coal, 
the other half by cans of coal-oil. 

I think the most impartial and easily pleased 
jury would have decided that these arrange- 
ments were not calculated to increase dramatic 
ardour. 

But when the auditorium was swept and 
sprinkled with clean sand, and filled with a 
gradually ascending forest of trestles, on which 
were extended foot- wide planks, and was lighted 
by clean coal-oil lamps, it looked very differ- 
ent. When it is taken into consideration that 
every foot of those foot-wide planks brought 

268 



PURIFICATION 

three dollars into the treasury, its crudities 
were not so painful to the senses. Brooms 
and buckets of water, a vigorous scrubbing 
and judicious distribution of bolts of unbleached 
muslin did wonders for the dressing-rooms. 



269 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

SEEKING REST AND FINDING NONE — "WHY DON'T YOU 
GO INTO SOME DECENT BUSINESS?" — NEW-MOWN HAY 
— THE PROPERTIES OF THE RENO THEATRE 

Although in my various pilgrimages I have 
found many places in many parts of the world 
which provided me with much unrest, yet that 
town of Reno is marked with a white stone in 
my memory as having given me an ideal and 
most idyllic rest, albeit under somewhat unusual 
circumstances. 

I had come in from rehearsal — such a re- 
hearsal — in the early afternoon of the day on 
which the performance was to be given — 
tired, hot, hungry, and with a severe headache. 
A glance at the dining-room — a long white 
barn, through the bare windows of which poured 
sun, heat, dust, and flies, and the government 
of which was administered by a cabinet of 
waiter-ladies with clicking heels, small waists, 
short aprons, and shorter manners — sent me 
dinnerless to my room, the one window of which, 
being bare also, admitted the same visitors that 

270 



SEEKING REST 

were making themselves at home in the salle-a- 
manger. 

The house having been built to resemble 
as closely as possible a penal institution, my 
room was one of a row, with the doors opposite 
each other, in a long passage about four feet 
in width, and in the doorway opposite to mine 
there sat a young woman in a rocking-chair. 
This she had placed over the door-sill, so that 
every swing of the chair as it bumped over that 
sill — and she rocked with a magnificent vigour 
— sent a rumble and thrill through the entire 
building, and, incidentally, through my head. 
To add to the prospect of my having a nice, 
quiet afternoon a little boy with a fine, strong, 
new pair of hobnailed, copper-toed boots was 
testing their noise-making propensities by gal- 
loping up and down the passage. 

In the face of all these opposing forces I tried 
to sleep, but of course unsuccessfully, and after 
a couple of hours of pain and feverish unrest 
I opened my door, and in the sweetest and most 
insinuating tone I could command told the 
lady opposite of my weariness and headache, 
concluding by asking her if she would not have 

271 



ROSE EYTINGE 

her little boy play elsewhere. She turned her 
face — it was a bright little face, and she was 
a bright, pretty little woman — toward me, and 
said: "No, I sha-ant! I ain't a-goin' to spoil 
my kid's fun fer you. Sleepy! Why don't you 
go inter some decent business, where you kin 
sleep nights ?" 

I felt that her remarks were at least unan- 
swerable, and I retired. Feeling disinclined 
to woo the drowsy god again, I sat on a hard, 
straight-backed chair and mechanically looked 
out of the window. On the other side of the 
railroad and the white, sun-smitten sandy road 
there lay a great field of grass, and there also 
was a high, cool-looking mound of new-mown 
hay. As I sat, bolt upright, in that hot, com- 
fortless cell of a room, it was a most tempting 
vision, and as the time dragged along and the 
shadows about it lengthened it seemed to my 
tired eyes and wearied fancy to stretch out its 
arms to me and invite me to find rest beside it; 
so I made a hasty toilet, and, taking a book, 
I passed over to that rick of hay. 

Oh! how cool and sweet and delicious it was, 
as I sank down upon its fragrant softness, and 

272 



NEW-MOWN HAY 

how I did enjoy the sweetness and the quiet, 
and I settled down in a hollow of my fragrant 
retreat to rest and read ; for I felt that, much as 
I should have enjoyed doing so, it would not 
be quite the thing, even in unconventional 
Nevada, to yield to my great desire to take a 
nap there; so I would just rest, and read, and 
think, and — and 

Eh? What? Where was I? The sun had 
gone down, the dark shadows of night were 
closing in, and here was my business manager 
— with the face expressive of the condition of 
a manager who sees a sinister possibility of a 
full house being dismissed, and the money 
returned — bending over me. 

It was nearly time to "ring up"; the house 
was full; the lamps were trimmed; the hotel 
and its inmates were in a state of excitement 
in which disappointment at the possibility of 
missing the "show" and anticipation of a spicy 
tragedy were about equally divided; and here 
had I been asleep for hours on my happily found 
couch of new-mown hay. 

The play, selected by popular choice, was 
"Camille." Of the performance, the scenes, 

273 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the properties, the costumes, no amount of 
description would do justice to all or any of 
them. The supper-table was a study at once 
of simplicity of detail and ingenuity of resource. 
The epergne of fruit which decorated its centre 
consisted of an old straw hat, inverted, and 
containing three withered apples; and the 
glasses from which we were supposed to quaff 
champagne were two thick tumblers of unequal 
size and one thick coffee-cup with a broken 
handle. 

Of my Armand, to say that he was abso- 
lutely ignorant of the lines of his part is but 
faintly to express his shortcomings. It was 
not so much what he did not say that was 
so painful as what he did say. And he was 
entirely and airily satisfied with himself and 
his efforts. 

Realising the situation, and being anxious 
to keep the performance somewhere within the 
lines of the story, I adopted a desperate course. 
As he stood regarding me with a smirk of senile 
self-sufficiency, I would exclaim, "Ah, Armand, 
I know what you would say," and then I would 
speak such of his lines as were necessary to 

274 



VIGOROUS ACTING 

make it possible for Camille to reply, and pro- 
ceed with my own part. 

This action of mine produced an unexpected 
effect upon him. At first he was surprised, 
then bewildered, then angry. Turning fiercely 
upon me, he exclaimed, "Cum-mille, you ain't 
worth no man's love. I'll leave you forever," 
and rushed for the centre door to effect an exit. 
But I was too quick for him. I caught his 
coat-tails just as they were disappearing, and, 
bringing him back upon the stage, I cried in 
tones of anguish, "Armand! you shall not leave 
me thus!" — and, clinging to him, I held him 
on the stage by main force till I managed to 
bring the curtain down. 

The local paper, I remember, called especial 
attention to the extremely lifelike and vigorous 
acting of this scene. 



275 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

SALT LAKE CITY — THE GUEST OF BRIGHAM YOUNG — THE 
KING OF UTAH — POLYGAMY 

Salt Lake City is to-day, as I understand 
from recent visitors there, a typical, thriving, 
Western business centre, differing in no special 
features from any other town of like size; but 
a quarter of a century ago it was unique. I 
think no other spot on earth was like it, and it 
was like no other spot on earth; it was such a 
mingling of the savage and the civilised, the 
fervid pietist and the reckless agnostic, the 
thrifty money-spinner and the careless spend- 
thrift. 

The same strong contrasts that marked its 
social aspects characterised its natural features. 
It was a great strip of sandy desert, backed by 
frowning mountains, and made all the more 
awe-inspiring by the mysterious presence of 
the Great Salt Lake. But this sandy desert 
had, by the marvellous energy of the sect that 
had put up its tents in it, been transformed into 

276 



GUEST OF BRIGHAM YOUNG 

a garden. The streets were shaded by trees, 
and made sweet and refreshing by pure water, 
both having been brought down from those 
frowning mountains. Cleanliness, order, quiet, 
and apparent peace reigned everywhere. 

To this most interesting spot I was invited 
to come and play an engagement. I timed 
my acceptance so that my season would close 
there, and thus I might devote a brief time to 
a visit in the city and its neighbourhood. On 
my arrival I was waited upon by a couple of 
white- whiskered, reverend-looking men, the 
bearers of an invitation from Brigham Young 
to become his guest during my stay. When I 
learned that I was to be entertained at the best 
hotel in the place, where the best suite had 
been reserved for me, and not in any one of 
the score or so of his marital establishments, 
I promptly accepted the great polygamist's 
hospitality. 

The next morning a fine carriage, drawn by 
a pair of spanking bays, drew up in front of the 
hotel, and a message was sent me that this 
carriage was at my disposal for the period of 
my stay. Promptly at nine o'clock every 

277 



ROSE EYTINGE 

morning it appeared, and a great joy and com- 
fort it was to me. 

I lost no time in paying my respects to my 
host, and a very interesting old man I found 
him. He certainly was a most courteous, 
thoughtful, and attentive host, and he lost no 
opportunity to make my visit agreeable. Day 
after day parties were formed to go to some 
one of the many marvellous spots with which 
the surrounding country abounded, and these 
parties were usually recruited from members 
of his very numerous families. There were 
scores of young and middle-aged men and 
women who called him father, and they one 
and all treated him with great respect and 
deference. I soon found, however, that his 
many wives were very chary of meeting, and 
always referred to each other in cold, grudging 
terms. This state of feeling seemed to be uni- 
versal among Mormon wives. 

In all essentials, but not in name, Brigham 
Young was a sovereign, and his rule was abso- 
lute. Nothing could exceed his pride in his 
principality and in his own part in its estab- 
lishment. He would point to the great range 

278 



A TALK ON POLYGAMY 

of mountains all around us, and say, "Look 
at 'em; all the gold in California is nothin' 
compared with the wealth that's in them moun- 
tains." And when I put to him the pertinently- 
natural question why he did not get some of it 
out, he would answer: "If I did, we would be 
swarmed out and trodden down by armies of 
Gentiles, for the Gentiles love gold a heap bet- 
ter than they do their God, for all their talk." 

We had many talks on the subject of his 
peculiar faith, more particularly the feature of 
polygamy, which he, of course, strenuously de- 
fended, while I as strenuously opposed it. 

I particularly remember one little incident. 
He took me one day, on a visit of inspection, 
to a house in course of erection. As we passed 
from room to room this subject of polygamy 
was under discussion, and by way of illustrating 
his argument he pointed out the many spacious 
advantages of the house, and said : 

"Now, suppose you were living in this house, 
and say you were sealed to me, and I were to 
bring in another wife and establish her in 
another wing, why should you object? What 
would you do?" 

279 



ROSE EYTINGE 

To which I replied: 

"Do? I would dance on her!" 

The old man dropped on a pile of lumber 
that lay conveniently near, and laughed until 
I thought he would do himself an injury. 



280 



CHAPTER XXXV 

PLAYING A BOY'S PART FOR THE ONLY TIME — CLEOPATRA 
— HENRY BERGH'S EULOGY 

It is a rather odd circumstance, in view of 
the large range of characters I have imperson- 
ated, that I have never played but one boy's 
part. That was when I was a green girl and 
was cast for the part of Violente, in the comedy 
of "The Honeymoon." In those days I made 
my own costumes, and in a general way was 
my own milliner and dressmaker. So I set to 
work, studied the character, and made myself 
a nice little costume for it. 

The night of the performance came. With 
some pride, but with more trepidation, I donned 
my page's suit. During the progress of my 
dressing for the part, the women of the com- 
pany, whose dressing-room I shared, submitted 
me to a running fire of comment and criticism 
mere pertinent than polite. 

I bore this as well as I could, though I con- 
281 



ROSE EYTINGE 

fess that it stung. But it was when I went to 
the greenroom, and was made the target for 
the remarks of the masculine members of the 
company, that my real sufferings began. They 
were quite frank in the expression of their 
opinions as to my appearance on this particular 
occasion, and my general fitness to play boys' 
parts. I had found the comments of my pro- 
fessional sisters quite hard to digest; they were 
tonic, if somewhat bitter; but those of my pro- 
fessional brothers were much more unpleasant, 
though they were sweet, cloyingly sweet, and 
their effect upon me was to reduce me to tears, 
partly of embarrassment, but mainly of help- 
less indignation. 

The result of all this was that Violente went 
on the stage with a pair of red eyes, a swollen 
nose (which no amount of powder could reduce 
to symmetry), and a voice choked with unuttered 
sobs. The end of the performance came at 
last. I went to my dressing-room, and, as I 
dropped my pretty little page's suit, I laid it 
in a neat heap on the floor with the remark 
that the costume was entirely at the service 
of any one who liked to take it, as I should 

282 



PLAYING A BOY'S PART 

never need it again, for the reason that I would 
never again play a boy's part. 

This declaration of mine was met by a volley 
of remarks, some of derision, some of amuse- 
ment, some of lofty disapproval. One lady 
said, with severe acrimony, "Ah, young one, 
you'll get bravely over all that nonsense. You'll 
play many a boy's part before you get through 
your career as an actress, if you propose to be 
an actress." 

Whereupon I retorted, "I will be an actress, 
and my name as an actress will be known and 
will live when you and your name are forgotten, 
and I will never again play a boy's part." 

And never since have I played in that char- 
acter. But I think my resolution was a very 
stupid one, for because of it I have deprived 
myself of the privilege of playing some glorious 
parts, such as Imogene, Viola, and Rosalind. 

But I have consoled myself for never having 
played any of these delightful characters by 
appearing as some of the great heroines of 
Shakespeare, as Lady Macbeth, Beatrice, Her- 
mione, and Cleopatra. I am often asked which 
is my favourite character, and I am never able 
283 



ROSE EYTINGE 

to answer this question conclusively. But I 
certainly enjoyed playing Cleopatra more than 
any other part, and I think that was, perhaps, 
because of many contributing causes — the 
most potent, may be, being the fact that at the 
time when I first played the role I had but 
recently returned from a residence of some 
years' duration in the East, and was more or 
less permeated with the Oriental atmosphere. 
While in Egypt I had actually lived for a while 
upon almost the identical spot where, long ago, 
had stood a summer palace of Cleopatra. 

Then I had brought with me from the East 
many things that I used in arranging my cos- 
tumes, — silks, quaintly fringed scarfs from 
Damascus, shawls from Persia, and ornaments 
of virgin gold and silver, rudely beaten out and 
set with gems. From drawings and photo- 
graphs which I was at great pains to procure, 
from copies of ornaments which had from time 
to time been discovered by the researches of 
archaeologists and preserved in the museums, 
I had had made crowns and other headgear, 
jewelled belts, girdles, armlets, bracelets, ear- 
rings, and various ornaments, all of which were 

284 



1 'ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA" 

faithful counterparts of the gewgaws with which 
women of that faraway period had bedecked 
themselves. 

All these details helped to fix in my mind 
a certainty and clearness that I would be able 
to look the part, at any rate; and I think that 
every actress will agree with me that to feel 
sure that one looks a part is always a great help 
in playing it. 

Another important factor, and one which 
added greatly to my enjoyment of the perform- 
ance, was the complete, correct, and gorgeous 
character of the production. It was at the 
California Theatre, under John McCullough's 
management. There had been an arrangement 
entered into between McCullough and myself, 
at the close of an engagement, that I should 
return the following year and play a Shake- 
spearean heroine, for which he would make a 
production. Whatever I may or may not have 
done, he most nobly kept his share of the com- 
pact. 

After much discussion "Antony and Cleo- 
patra' ' was the piece settled upon, and with 
much tribulation I set to work to study the 

285 



ROSE EYTINGE 

part; and, without overstepping modesty, I 
can say I played it well. There is no doubt 
that Cleopatra is the strongest, the most com- 
plex, and most difficult to realise of all Shake- 
speare's heroines. It calls upon the actress to 
run the gamut of every emotion and every 
passion which the heart is capable of feeling 
or the tongue is capable of expressing, and to 
be able to depict her in all her varying moods 
is to elevate histrionism to its apex. 

The production had a run of four weeks, 
an unprecedented success in those days in 
California. Afterward I played the piece in 
the various cities North, South, East and West, 
but never under the agreeable circumstances 
or with the artistic surroundings that marked 
its first production. 

I remember one incident that marked this 
difference. Henry Bergh, the founder of the 
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Ani- 
mals, was a man of more than ordinary intellect 
and literary attainment, and was a loving stu- 
dent of Shakespeare. He attended a perform- 
ance of the piece when I was most inadequately 
supported. Afterward he called upon me, and 

286 



PRAISED BY HENRY BERGH 

on his entrance he saluted me, not in my own 
person, but as Cleopatra. He then went on 
to say that the illusion which my make-up and 
general appearance and performance created 
was so complete that he would never again be 
able to dissociate me in his thoughts from 
Egypt's queen. "In fact," he continued, "as 
you reclined upon your throne, regarding the 
various persons who were about you, it seemed 
to me that you were observing them with a 
mixture of contemptuous amusement and cu- 
riosity, as wondering if they were trying to 
entertain you, and thinking how unsuccessful 
they were." 



287 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

london and its notables — tom taylor — the olym- 
pic theatre — beerbohm tree — the effect of 
too realistic acting — a noble lord's criticism 
— "annie thomas" 

My second visit to Europe was at the close 
of a long season, and for the same reason that 
occasioned the first, to obtain a much-needed 
rest, for I was pretty thoroughly worn out, 
having played Cleopatra during the preceding 
year almost exclusively. 

I had no intention of acting while abroad, 
for, before my departure, I had signed a con- 
tract with Colonel Sinn to play under his man- 
agement the following season, beginning in 
September. As he had arranged to have me 
play a pretty extensive repertory, the necessity 
for the devotion of many weeks to preparatory 
rehearsals made my early return imperative. 

While in London I had the good fortune to 
fall into a most interesting social set of actors, 
writers, and other notables. Among them were 
Charles Reade, "Tom" Taylor, Wilkie Collins, 



TOM TAYLOR 

"Annie Thomas," Sir John Millais, W. S. Gil- 
bert, Henry Irving, Ellen Terry, J. S. Clark 
(who, though an American, had long been 
known as a London manager), B. F. Chatter- 
ton, the Duke of Beaufort, Lord Londesborough, 
Robert Buchanan, Edmund Yates, John Cole- 
man, Mrs. Charles Kean, Lionel Brough, Henry 
J. Byron, Mrs. Chippendale, and a host of 
others. 

I have a particularly pleasant recollection 
of Tom Taylor. Possibly my memory of him 
is only another proof of the power of mutual 
admiration, for, from our first meeting, although 
he had never seen me act, he conceived a great 
admiration for my dramatic powers, and he 
seemed to be impressed with the idea that there 
were characteristics in my personality and 
general presence which, to his mind, seemed 
eminently to fit me to realise the tragic and 
heroic. 

So impressed was he with this idea that he 
was very anxious to write a tragedy for me, 
with Boadicea, Queen of Britain, for its heroine, 
but somehow the subject did not appeal to me, 
and nothing ever came of the scheme. 



ROSE EYTINGE 

In his personal appearance Tom Taylor was 
the very opposite of the usual literary man; he 
looked much more like a well-to-do miller. He 
affected grey clothing and a soft grey hat, and 
when one saw his fine, strong face crowned with 
iron-grey hair, he looked like a miller powdered 
with his own stock. 

Both Tom Taylor and Charles Reade were 
very desirous that I should play Cleopatra in 
London, predicting a great success; but as by 
this time it was June, and I was to return to 
America in August, such an appearance was 
out of the question. I did, however, play two 
short engagements in London, in both of which 
I had the good fortune to be very successful. 

My first character was Nancy Sykes at the 
Olympic Theatre, London, where the audiences 
liked my Nancy much better than I ever did. 
I always disliked the part from the first time 
I played it in association with Wallack and 
Davenport. 

As a result of this brief engagement I received 
offers from several London managers, which, 
if I had been free to accept them, would have 
filled out a year in that city, in that part alone. 

290 



REALISTIC ACTING 

At this time the lesseeship of Drury Lane 
Theatre was to be disposed of, and Chatterton 
and Harris were rival competitors. Mr. Chat- 
terton offered me an engagement there under 
the most flattering conditions, in the event of 
his obtaining possession of it. But Harris won. 

It was during my engagement at the Olympic 
Theatre that Beerbohm Tree made his first 
professional appearance, although he had long 
been known as an amateur of marked ability. 
On the occasion I refer to he played the part of 
a German waiter in a curtain-raiser. 

A somewhat interesting incident occurred 
during this engagement. One night, some time 
after the curtain had fallen, while I was busy 
removing the traces of Nancy's tragic death, 
a gentleman appeared at the door of my dress- 
ing-room, having been brought there by an 
usher from the front of the house. After pro- 
fuse apologies for his intrusion, he begged me 
to go with him to the assistance of the young 
lady under his escort, who with him had wit- 
nessed the performance, was in great distress 
of mind on my account, and refused to be com- 
forted. He said if she could see me, she would 
291 



ROSE EYTINGE 

be convinced of my safety, but he feared in no 
other way. 

I slipped on some garment and went with 
him. The theatre was dark and empty, save 
for a little group which the dim light of a lan- 
tern in the hand of the night watchman showed 
me at the top of the three steps leading down 
to the stalls. There, sitting on the top step, 
was a fair young woman, her dress dishevelled, 
her beautiful brown hair fallen about her 
shoulders, her hands pressed tightly over her 
eyes. She was rocking herself, and moaning 
and muttering incoherently. I sat down beside 
her, took her hands in mine, drew them from 
her face, and cheerfully begged her to see for 
herself that I was not in the slightest degree 
the worse for all the dreadful scenes she had 
witnessed. 

At the sound of my voice she threw back 
her head and listened, slowly opened her eyes, 
looked searchingly into my face, and, being 
at last convinced of who I was, flung herself 
into my arms with a cry of: "Oh, you poor dear, 
they didn't kill you after all!" After which 
she pulled herself together and went home, to 
292 



A NOBLEMAN'S CRITICISM 

the great relief of all of us who wanted to do 
likewise. 

The criticism of Lord Londesborough was 
quite as hearty and sincere, though it was offered 
in a somewhat original fashion. After the cur- 
tain had fallen upon poor dead Nancy, he came 
to my dressing-room to pay his respects, but 
when he found himself there he seemed to be 
a bit bewildered. He peered at me through 
his glasses, his face wearing an expression of 
helpless amazement. Finally he took my hands 
in his, but seemed to be at a loss to know what 
to do with them, and, looking down upon me, 
his expression of amazement momentarily in- 
creasing, he muttered at intervals: "Extraor- 
dinary! Ton my life, mos' extraordinary!" 
Then, dropping my hands, he backed toward 
the door, only to return and repeat this cere- 
mony several times, at last making his exit. 
But even then there still floated back to me, 
"Mos' extraordinary ! really mos' extraordinary I" 

I found much to interest me in "Annie 
Thomas." I had long been familiar with her 
293 



ROSE EYTINGE 

name, having often read it on the title-pages of 
her novels, and had as often wondered why she 
had never come to the front, for I thought her 
literary work far in advance of that of many of 
her fellow- workers in the same field, who had 
achieved success. After meeting her I no longer 
wondered, unless it was to wonder how, with 
the many claims she had upon her, she managed 
to do so much. In real life she was Mrs. Annie 
Cudlipp. Her husband, a clergyman, was in 
charge of a large, turbulent, East End London 
parish, where he held three daily services and 
drew a salary of fifty pounds a year. She had 
a large family of small children, and was a 
devoted wife and mother. Besides being a 
bright, pretty woman, fond of society, she 
managed, despite all these claims upon her 
time and energies, to keep in touch with her 
other work. 

One morning I met her on the Strand. Her 
appearance denoted that she was in some 
trouble. "Oh, my dear!" she exclaimed, "I 
am in such a scrape. When I left home this 
morning I had fifty pages of 'scrip' for 'Tin.'" 
This, being translated, meant that she had 
294 



A LOST MANUSCRIPT 

written fifty pages of manuscript on a serial 
story that was running in "Tinsley's Magazine.' ' 
"And now, look!" — pointing to a bag which 
hung upon her arm — "When I was leaving the 
'bus a few moments ago, this beast" — shaking 
her little black bag — "had its mouth wide 
open, and my fifty pages are gone to the 
devil! — God forgive me! — and I a parson's 
wife!" 

I soothed and comforted her, assuring her 
that William Tinsley, whom I knew quite well 
as one of the kindest of men, would straighten 
the matter out for her. 

We turned into Catharine Street, and, finding 
Mr. Tinsley in his office, she repeated to him 
her tale of woe. He turned away without a 
word, and stood with his back to us for a brief 
time, then returned, and, patting Mrs. Cudlipp 
on the shoulder, said: "There, there, Annie, 
we'll manage. We'll insert a slip in this month's 
edition, saying, 'Owing to a press of matter, 
Annie Thomas's charming story is unavoid- 
ably crowded out this month.' Now, go home, 
pull yourself together, and write something 
a deal better." 

295 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

WILKIE COLLINS — CHARLES READE — THE INFLUENCE OF 
CHARLES DICKENS — NANCY SYKES CONVERTS A BAP- 
TIST 

Among the literary men whom I met in 
London, perhaps Wilkie Collins was as great 
a surprise, and, in a way, as great a disappoint- 
ment, as I ever experienced in a first meeting 
with a "notable." In all Mr. Collins's stories 
I had read, his men, especially his villains, 
had been big, portentous, heavy men; while 
he, in his own person, was the exact opposite 
of all these, and certainly, in dealing out all 
these fine proportions to his characters, Wilkie 
Collins displayed a modesty unusual among 
people of his craft. 

He was "the mildest-mannered man," and 
almost the smallest, I ever met, who was not 
positively a dwarf. His hands and feet were 
almost dwarfed, and as he sat perched up on 
a rather high chair at his writing-table, with 
his grizzled beard flowing over his breast, and 
his low, soft voice flowing out in silvery accents, 
296 



AN AUTHOR'S WEAKNESS 

his head surmounted with a quaintly shaped 
skull-cap, he looked rather like a wizard who 
had fallen under the ban of his fairy godmother, 
who in anger had deprived him of his legs. 

The first time I met him, he was suffering 
from one of his frequent attacks of gout. I re- 
member, when I mentioned this circumstance 
to Charles Reade, that gentleman said — and 
there seemed to be a sort of gusto, a sense of 
satisfaction in his tone: "Ah! Wilkie has been 
drinking champagne! He will do it, though 
he knows it's poison to him. The very moment 
he gets a bit better, off he will trot to the club 
and have a good 'tuck-in' of lobster and 
champagne, and so gets another attack." 

This gloating over the weakness of his liter- 
ary brother struck me as particularly human, 
for this was precisely one of Mr. Reade' s many 
weaknesses. His enemy was dyspepsia, and 
any deviation from simple fare was sure to be 
followed by a sharp attack of this malady, with 
the inevitable result of reducing him to repen- 
tance, abstemiousness, and bad temper. 

He was under the influence of this combina- 
tion when, one day, I visited Covent Garden 
297 



ROSE EYTINGE 

with him. With the inconsistency that so often 
marked his conduct, he bought for me the rarest 
fruit and the most beautiful plants, exhibiting 
in his selections the finest taste and the most 
lavish generosity; and then he dragged me, 
shamefaced enough, through the length of the 
market, begging of every stall-keeper the gift 
of a bruised peach, of which dainty morsel he 
expressed himself as being extravagantly fond. 
I think it is conceded that Charles Dickens 
was a powerful teacher of Christian charity; 
and it was once my privilege to be his apostle, 
the knowledge of which came to me in rather 
an odd way. I was crossing the Atlantic on 
my return voyage, and as I sat huddled in my 
steamer-chair, looking, as I always do look on 
shipboard, more like a bundle of rags than a 
reasonable woman, I noticed among my fellow- 
passengers a venerable-looking, white-haired 
man in the garb of a clergyman. One day, 
the captain, with whom I had crossed many 
times, said this old gentleman wished to be 
presented to me. I consented, thinking that 
knowing my profession, the minister felt it 
his duty to make an effort to convert me. I 

298 



A BAPTIST CONVERT 

was quite wrong; it was, on the contrary, to 
thank me for having been the cause of his con- 
version. The means of my doing this, sum- 
marised, were as follows : 

This old man had been educated a Baptist 
of the most severe type, and had never read 
a novel or any work of fiction. The men- 
tal illness of a brother-in-law had occasioned 
this, his first visit to Europe, the imperative 
condition being that, while it was dangerous 
to oppose his change, it was equally imperative 
that he should be closely and constantly watched 
and accompanied everywhere he chose to go. 

One night during my London engagement 
this brother-in-law of my new acquaintance, 
finding himself in front of the Olympic Theatre, 
where I was playing Nancy Sykes, walked in, 
and his relative was forced to follow him. The 
old gentleman said to me: "I felt that I was 
walking through the gates of hell," and then he 
proceeded to describe his feelings and experi- 
ences. At first, his horror at finding himself 
in a theatre swept away every other thought, 
but gradually he found himself becoming more 
interested in poor Nancy, the womanhood of 
299 



ROSE EYTINGE 

the poor creature shining out amid the gloom 
and wretchedness and sin of her surroundings. 
In short, he told me that when the curtain fell 
he awakened to the truth that he had received 
one of the deepest, most far-reaching lessons 
in Christian charity of his life, and he felt pro- 
found gratitude to Charles Dickens for having 
given the world the story, and to me for having 
revealed it to him. 

This confession, as it were, on his part, led 
to long talks between my convert and myself, 
with the result that he expressed the determi- 
nation to enter upon a new course of reading 
of humanity, which, beginning with the great 
teacher, Shakespeare, should include all the 
standard writers of English fiction from the 
Elizabethan to the Victorian era. 

That he carried out this resolution I know, 
for the acquaintance, which was begun under 
such unusual circumstances, ripened into a 
friendship which was brought to an end only 
by the death of my friend. 



300 



CHAPTER XXXVIII 

EDMUND YATES — ROBERT BUCHANAN — MRS. W. E. GLAD- 
STONE — PROFESSOR BLACKIE — PALGRAVE SIMPSON 

Among the men whom I met in London were 
Edmund Yates and Robert Buchanan. It is 
rather paradoxical to mention them together, 
for no two men were ever farther apart. They 
had had, at some time, a very bitter quarrel, 
and, being both very bumptious, and holding 
very exaggerated opinions of their own im- 
portance, each nursed his wrath against the 
other, which, as a consequence, was always 
at white heat. It was quite understood among 
their mutual friends and acquaintances that 
Buchanan's name was not to be mentioned in 
Yates's presence, and vice versa. Occasionally, 
however, someone, bent on a bit of fun, would 

break this rule, and then 

Edmund Yates's wife was the daughter of 
a saddlemaker who had accumulated a fortune, 
a large portion of which had fallen to this 
daughter. She was — letting her tell it — the 

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ROSE EYTINGE 

greatest lady in London. About the time I 
met them they had just moved into a fine house 
in an ultra-aristocratic neighbourhood, and, 
in speaking of the arrangement of her new 
abode, she said: "I shall not use the rooms on 
the first floor at all ; they will be used for offices 
and reception-rooms for writers and actors, 
and that sort of person that Edmund always 
has about him." As "Edmund" was the son 
of an actor and actress, and "that sort of per- 
son," her remark was in peculiarly good taste. 
Robert Buchanan and his wife were of quite 
a different sort, — whole-souled, hospitable, and 
unconventional. Indeed it sometimes struck 
me that Robert Buchanan was a trifle too un- 
conventional; as, for instance, when he walked 
into a box at the theatre to pay his respects to 
me, arrayed in a heavy tweed suit. 

I often found Englishmen more careless in 
matters of dress than Americans. Charles 
Reade once gave me rather a shock when he 
called to take me to some social function, and 
he was dressed in a long, loose, black velvet- 
garment, that, if he had worn it at home, would 
302 



MRS. W. E, GLADSTONE 

have passed very well for a dressing-gown. To 
add to his appearance he was without his false 
teeth. I have no doubt they were quietly re- 
posing in the waste-paper basket in his writing- 
room, their usual refuge. An Englishwoman, 
however, will rise to her circumstances with 
more courage than we Americans are apt to 
do. Her gown may be of cheap material, if 
she cannot afford better, and it may not be well 
or tastefully made, but it will always be con- 
ventionally correct for the occasion on which 
it is worn. 

I speak with profound respect for the lady, 
but one of the worst, if not the very worst, 
dressed women I ever met in society was Mrs. 
William Ewart Gladstone. I remember on one 
occasion meeting her at luncheon at Dalmeny, 
where we were guests of Earl Rosebery. She 
was arrayed in a gown of shabby, once black 
velveteen, trimmed with cheap cotton lace. 

Dalmeny, which is near Edinburgh, reminds 

me of a noble man, indeed, whom I had the 

privilege of meeting in that old town, — John 

Stuart Blackie, professor of Greek at Edin- 

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ROSE EYTINGE 

burgh University. No man was more beloved 
and revered in the university and in the com- 
munity than was this gracious, kingly old man. 

Never shall I forget the sensation which his 
advent created in a usually quiet household 
on the occasion of his first call upon me. I was 
having my afternoon tea "wi' a wee bittee hot 
scone," in the cosy sitting-room of my Edin- 
burgh lodging, when my hostess fell in, and 
with starting eyes and heaving breast gasped, 
with bated breath, "He's bye! he's ben the 
hoose! he's comin' up the stair! It's you, mem, 
it's you he's wantin'; I her-ed him speak yer 
name!" 

And out she rushed; while I sat amazed, 
and wondering whether this visitor was a Ma- 
hatma from Tibet or a sheriff from New York, 
that his appearance created such consternation. 

From without I heard mysterious sounds of 
opening and shutting of drawers, scuffling and 
shuffling of feet, and whispers in excited tones. 
Then silence, followed by the sound of a firm 
footstep on the landing. 

The door opened, and my landlady, looking 
inches taller and miles grander than I had ever 

304 



A PACKED HOUSE 

seen her before, and arrayed in a long, black 
silk apron, and a cap with flowers at the sides 
and flowing Gibbon strings, handed me a card, 
bearing the Professor's name. When I read 
it, and calmly asked her to show the gentleman 
in, and fetch another cup and saucer, her 
consternation was complete. But it was when 
the Professor departed that the great sensa- 
tion occurred; I accompanied him to the door, 
and we found awaiting his appearance literally 
a packed house. Every inch of available space 
was filled. The dear, kindly old man, accus- 
tomed as he was to these marks of love, did not 
share my surprise at this demonstration, but 
passed down through the crowd, flinging quips 
and pleasant greetings; and a fine, pleasant 
sight he was, with his snow-white hair flowing 
about his neck, under his black, soft, slouched 
hat, and carrying on his shoulders a mantle 
of the Stuart plaid. 

Palgrave Simpson was another English writer 

whom I met. He always struck me as being 

the most un-Bohemian writer I ever knew. He 

was a quiet, serious, unobtrusive gentleman, 

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ROSE EYTINGE 

and when in his company it was hard to realise 
that he was the author of many comedies and 
rattling farces that have held a place on the 
English stage for the last twenty or thirty years, 
He wanted me to play Lady Dedlock in his 
dramatisation of "Bleak House," but I had 
had the good fortune to see Madame Janau- 
schek play that part, in conjunction with Hor- 
tense, the vindictive waiting-maid of her haughty 
ladyship, and I was not willing to disturb my 
recollection of her admirable performance of 
those two parts. 



306 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

CHANGES IN THE PROFESSION — LUCILLE WESTERN — 
LOUIS ALDRICH — JAMES A. HERNE — ADAH ISAACS 

MENKEN 

Other times, other manners. No greater 
change has taken place in matters theatrical 
than in the ways of actresses. It used to be 
the custom for an actress of any prominence to 
surround herself with an atmosphere of ex- 
clusiveness and mystery. She was never to be 
seen, as she may be constantly, to-day, upon 
the ordinary promenade, or at the theatre, or 
shopping, or at teas, or receptions. 

She was known personally only to a few 
intimate friends. The public never saw her, 
except upon the stage. 

Many times, some thirty years ago, I hap- 
pened to stop at the same hotel with Lucille 
Western. She was a beautiful creature, and 
then in the zenith of her charms and her repu- 
tation. I remember how jealously she guarded 
herself from casual observation. She never 
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ROSE EYTINGE 

permitted herself to enter the public rooms of 
the hotel, such as the parlour, reception-room, 
and dining-room. Her meals were always 
served in her own apartment, and when she 
left or entered the hotel she would pass 
swiftly and silently along, not only her face, 
but also her head and shoulders, draped in a 
heavy black-lace veil. 

Even in her own room she always kept this 
veil near her, and, if a knock came to the door, 
she would invariably cover her face with it 
before the summons was answered. 

This conduct on the part of Lucille Western 
may have been a little extreme, for she was an 
intense woman and given to extremes, but the 
rule of exclusiveness and aloofness from obser- 
vation used to be general with actresses. 

Two men, with whom I had personal inter- 
course, and each prominent in their respective 
paths of life, were Louis Aldrich and James A. 
Heme. Of the former more perhaps than of 
any man I ever knew might in truth be quoted 
these lines: 

None knew him but to love him, 
None named him but to praise. 

308 



AN INVETERATE GUYER 

When the grave closed upon him every actor 
and actress lost a true friend. 

Though Louis Aldrich was in the fullest and 
freest sense of the term a legitimate actor, there 
is no denying that he was also an inveterate 
"guyer," and he could "guy" so artistically, 
with so serious a face and so dignified a port, 
with so much poise and self-possession, that 
while those in the scene with him would be 
convulsed with laughter, and would have much 
ado to hold themselves together, the audience 
would never for a moment suspect him. An 
example of this occurs to me. 

I was in the cast with him in a war-piece 
written by Augustus Thomas, called "Surren- 
der." In this piece there was a court-martial, 
at which Mr. Aldrich enacted the part of the 
judge-advocate. There was an amusing inter- 
change between the president of the court and 
the comedian. 

Now this comedian was a bit of a "guyer" 
himself, so they had several tilts. On this 
particular night, when the comedy man came 
up for examination, Mr. Aldrich straightened 
himself up, looked at the witness with severe, 
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ROSE EYTINGE 

judicial dignity, and in a deep, portentous voice 
went on to say: "I know what you are about 
to tell me, sir. You would tell me," — and 
then proceeded to give the unfortunate wight's 
entire scene, gags and all. That comedian's 
face was a study. 

Of the famous Heme I saw much less than 
I did of Aldrich, either as actor or as man, but 
the little I did see endeared him to me for both 
his art and his heart. 

The recent death of Mr. Newell — "Orpheus 
C. Kerr" — reminds me of the only time I ever 
saw — or, what is really of more worth, heard 
— Adah Isaacs Menken. 

In the words of Little Buttercup, "many years 
ago, when I was young and charming," I used 
to patronise a French hairdresser named Gentil. 
One morning I went to his place, and on enter- 
ing I saw a swathed and betowelled form 
occupying the operating-chair. Apologising, I 
was about to beat a hasty retreat, when the 
figure turned toward me. I then saw one of 
the loveliest faces I ever beheld, and a voice 
begged me to remain. Never, either before 
or since, have I heard anything so perfect in 

310 



ADAH ISAACS MENKEN 

sound as that voice. It transfixed me; it was 
like the softest, sweetest tones of an seolian 
harp. My admiration roused my curiosity, — 
a quality usually rather inactive with me. I 
took an early opportunity to ask Gentil who 
his beautiful-faced, syren-voiced patroness was, 
and he told me it was Adah Isaacs Menken. 



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